A New World
by kat2110
Summary: While looking for her husband in the wake of the zombie apocalypse, 25 year old Zoey Blake finds an alliance in Rick Grimes & his group. How will they survive the end of the world? And will she find Bellamy and her friends? [REWRITTEN]
1. Atlanta

**Author's note: I have finally gotten around to rewriting chapters 1-12, so if you're new to this story you'll be able to enjoy A New World 2.0. :)**

* * *

I wake up from a loud banging sound. When I open my eyes, I stare at a shelf, dusty and messy, like no one had used it in weeks. In fact, as if no one had been in this room in weeks. I am still in the same sitting position I was in when I fell asleep, my legs spread in front of me, my upper body leaning against the back of the counter of the bookstore in which I have hidden in for the night. "Shit," I mumble to myself as memory comes pouring in. I wipe the sleep from my eyes with my left hand, my right hand is still holding on tight to the gun I have stolen from a dead police officer a couple of weeks ago. I slowly get up and lean on one knee, carefully looking over the counter to make out the source of the banging noise. I find it rather quickly. A biter has run against the store window, looking inside with dead eyes. It has been weeks, but every time I wake up, I still have to process the same information over and over again: the world as we know it has come to an end. Some weird infection has spread, causing people to wake up again after they have died, with only one goal: eat flesh. I still shudder at the thought. It did not take long for the military and the police to be overwhelmed with the masses of infected, and soon it had been each man for himself. In a crouching position I quickly walk over to the other window of the store front to check how many biters I am dealing with, but find that, thankfully, it is only the one. Checking that the safety is on, I tuck my gun back in the waistband of my jeans, so I can feel it pressing softly against my lower back. I walk back around the counter, open my backpack and pull out my big butchers knife, the one I took back in one of the small cities I passed on my way to Atlanta. The gun would draw too much attention, would draw in too many biters, so I will stick with the knife for as long as I can. I put on my backpack, put my long, red hair in a ponytail, pull up the sleeves of my black sweater, and grab the knife in my right hand. I take a deep breath and slowly open the front door of the store.  
I feel many things as I open the door and step into the empty street of Atlanta. Dread and fear are most of them. I must be mad to go even further into the city that belongs to the dead now, but thinking of Bellamy keeps me going. I need to get to our apartment. It is only eight blocks from here. I will know by tonight, and then I can get as far away from Atlanta as possible.

When I exit the store, the dead man turns around immediately to face me, as if he is able to smell me. He is wearing a black shirt and khaki pants, but I can only focus on his face. His skin has an unhealthy shade of gray, his eyes sit deep in its sockets, too deep, and they stare at me with a milky look. There is a gaping hole where his right ear had been. He is making grunting noises as he shuffles over to me. I take another deep breath and raise my knife, slowly setting one foot in front of the other in calculated movements. _Go for the head, always go for the head,_ I think to myself. When the dead man is close enough to me, I make one quick movement, closing the distance between us, and drive the knife into his head with all the force I can muster. He drops to the ground like dead weight, and I have put so much force behind my thrust that I collapse as well, landing on top of him. The smell of death that radiates off of him makes me gag, and with a panicked intake of breath I scramble off of him and clumsily get to my feet. My knife is still buried deep in his skull, but for a moment I cannot move. This has not been the first biter I killed, by far not, but it is still difficult and it still gives me the shivers. All I can do is stare at the man and wonder what he had been like before the infection. Did he have kids? A wife?Was he happy?  
I am pulled from my thoughts when I hear voices. I turn my head to the right and judge that there must be people around the corner, coming closer. I quickly move to retrieve my knife and run towards a small alleyway across the street from me. I can't tell why I am hiding from people that are alive, but I have decided soon after the end of the world to go with my gut in situations like these.  
The alley is full of trash and empty cardboard boxes, and I crouch behind one of the larger boxes to be out of sight. I have only been in my hiding spot for about five seconds when the sources of the voices come around the corner of the street. Four men, seemingly arguing. One of them is tall and black and bald, another one is a smaller Asian man wearing a baseball cap, the third one is clearly a police officer, he is spotting not only the badge and the beige shirt, but also a dark brown police cowboy hat; but it is the last of them that I cannot get my eyes off. He has short, messy brown hair and is wearing a torn shirt without sleeves. Everything about him looks redneck, and he clearly does not care much for personal hygiene; but that is not what my eyes are fixed on. He is carrying a crossbow. That is clearly the single most bad-ass thing I have seen since the infection broke out. Where do you even get one of these? For a long time I had wished, and in fact still do, that I had a more practical weapon. A gun is great, definitely, but what do I do if I run out of bullets? As much as I admire the crossbow, what does he do when he runs out of arrows? More than once I had wished I would have something more like a katana, or a machete, but all the stores I came across on the way to where I am now had already been raided, so I am already glad I have my knife and my gun.  
Pulling myself out of my thoughts, I watch as the four men disappear into a department store at the end of the street, and I am relieved that they are gone. I stay in my hiding spot for a couple more minutes and then quickly get up and start jogging down the street, away from the department store before they come out again.

* * *

When I turn into the street that I have lived on with my husband, I have not encountered a single biter. Relieved, I find that this street is empty as well. I break into a jog to out apartment complex, eager to finally rip off the band-aid, to finally get answers. I am aware that if he is alive, there is barely any chance he will still be in our apartment, the city is too dangerous, but if I can get any answers at all from seeing our place, I am willing to take the risk.

When I reach the front door, I stop dead in my tracks and almost feel the need to hit myself. _Keys._ I don't know if I have my keys with me. I take off my backpack and kneel down to empty its contents on the sidewalk. A couple of spare clothes, all filthy already, cans of food, deodorant and other hygiene articles, another two magazines for my gun, everything, but no keys. _God, you're a genius._ I curse myself under my breath because I cannot believe that not once in the last weeks did I think of the fact that I need keys to enter my apartment.  
I look up and down the apartment complex. Eventually, I admit to myself that the only way to enter the building is to break one of the windows to the apartments of the ground floor. I am not happy about it, but I do not have another choice. Looking left and right to ensure that I am still alone, I return all the contents to my backpack except for one sweater and one can of food. I take of couple of steps back, the can of food in my right hand and the sweater in my left. I turn the can around a couple of times. It should be heavy enough. I take a deep breath, position myself sideways in front of the building, and then throw the can at the window to Mrs. Kennedy's apartment as hard as I can. The glass shatters and the noise is so loud in contrast to the eerily quiet city that it is almost deafening. The biters are gonna come soon, so I quickly run to the window, wrap my right hand in the sweater, and then use it to break the last small pieces of the remaining glass and to wipe away the broken glass from the windowsill. Then I quickly throw the sweater into the apartment and my backpack after it. Looking left and right, I see that the street is thankfully still empty. I take a few steps back to take a run-up at the window, it is positioned too high for me to get in with a standing jump. Then, I run at the building as fast as I can. When I am close enough, I jump. My hands grab hold of the windowsill and I feel a sharp pain in my left palm, but I ignore it as I pull myself up, my right food pushing against the wall to support my upper body. I manage to support myself on both arms on the windowsill, and with a shift of weight I drop my upper body through the window, followed by my legs.  
I quickly scan the room to find it empty, and then allow myself a chuckle at my less-than-elegant entry. I get up looking at my left hand, and see that a piece of glass that I missed while sweeping has buried itself in my palm. Thankfully, the piece itself is not too big, so this wound should not require stitches. With all the noise I just made I do not want to spend more time than I have to in this room, so I quickly take one of my tank-tops out of my backpack, rip a piece of it out with my teeth, and carefully remove the shard of glass with two fingers. The blood starts flowing, so I quickly wrap the tissue of my top around the wound, hoping it will do. Then, I gather the can, my sweater and the rest of the broken tank-top and stuff it back into my backpack, close it, and put it back on. Then I grab the knife and am ready to go. Only now do I realize that I am standing in Mrs. Kennedy's living room. The furniture and decoration looks very old, and I am sure the yellow wallpaper has not been renewed in at least thirty years. To my left is a couch and a small coffee table, and the wall above the couch is decorated with pictures. I take a step closer and recognize Mrs. Kennedy straight away. In the picture I am looking at she is wearing a long dress, very vintage, and she is sitting on a park bench surrounded by three kids who must be her grandchildren. Her short hair is white and her skin wrinkled, but the old lady is smiling from ear to ear. Mrs. Kennedy had been the first neighbor to introduce herself to Bellamy and me when we moved in two years ago. She was lovely, always inviting us to dinner or offering to help out where she could. I feel a pang of guilt that I never really took the time to get to know her as I look around her living room.  
I am so immersed in my thoughts that I do not realize that someone has entered the room. Only when a cold, dead hand grabs my right arm am I pulled back to reality. With a panicked thrust I jerk around and see that Mrs. Kennedy is holding on to me, only it is not the sweet old lady I knew anymore. Her eyes are milky and she reeks of death, and she is making snarling noises as she shuffles closer to get a bite of me. I try to pull my arm out of her grip, but she is holding on too tight. Instead, I use my left hand to grab the knife from my right hand and with a quiet _I'm sorry,_ I bury the knife in her head. The old lady sinks to the ground. My heart is racing in my chest, and I realize that I need to get out of her apartment and to my own. Before I move I quickly look at my arm, but thankfully she has not drawn blood with her scratches.

There are no other people, dead or alive, in Mrs. Kennedys apartment, and neither in the staircase. Our apartment is on the third floor, but the closer I get, the heavier my legs feel. I have spend the last few weeks trying to get to Atlanta, to get to our apartment, but now that I am here, I am dreading to see it. All this time I expected not to find Bellamy here, because why would I? But I never thought of what I would do if I found him? What if he is dead too? What if I find him like I have just found Mrs. Kennedy? I don't think I have the strength to put a knife in his head.  
I almost have to force myself to turn around the last landing to our apartment, but when I do, I stop dead in my tracks.

"Oh please, no", the words leave my mouth before I can stop them.


	2. Encounters

_**Author's note: As you may notice in this chapter, I will change some things from the original Walking Dead Seasons, to better accommodate a) Zoey and b) the characters from The 100, once they enter the picture.**_

* * *

"Oh please, no!" I am frozen. The door to our apartment is wide open. As meaningless as an open door is, this still seems to be a bad sign to me. I have to force myself to take the last steps toward the apartment. _You have to know, Zoey,_ I tell myself. _You have to see.  
_ See what? A corpse? A biter? Nothing? All hope that I had, unrealistic or not, vanishes into thin air. I concentrate to put one foot in front of the other, to cover the distance between myself and the door frame. I take a deep breath and enter the apartment. Everything looks like I had left it. The shoe rack in the hallway is still only semi-neat; our bulletin board tells me I missed a dentist appointment that I had a couple of weeks ago. My heart drops when I step closer to the board. In the corner hangs a picture of Bellamy and me, from our trip to the Grand Canyon three years ago. I had to sneeze right after the picture was taken, so my face is absolutely hideous. Bellamy has his arm around me and laughs his effortless laugh, his dark mess of hair flowing in the wind. I despised the picture, but he loved it and every time I threw it away, he had it printed again until eventually, I gave up and left it where it was. Looking at it now breaks my heart. I turn away from the picture and continue down our hallway until I get to the kitchen. There is still fruit on the counter - now rotten. Nothing looks unnatural. I don't know what I expected, but suddenly the fact that nothing looks different makes me very uneasy. I turn around and walk towards the living room, but as soon as I reach it, I wish I had stayed in the kitchen.  
There is a big pool of dried blood in the middle of the room, our coffee table is broken and its contents strewn across the floor. I cannot bring myself to believe that this is Bellamy's blood.  
Hope is a strange concept, no matter how evident the facts, you somehow manage to find yourself believing the impossible happened. After all, is it not easier to go on with a 'maybe' than with a 'definitely not'?

I walk closer to the stain and crouch down to inspect it. There was a fight, that much is very obvious. I look around the living room floor and turn around the objects lying on the floor, when I see a something shiny reflecting in the sunlight which pours in from the window.

"No, no, no…"

I drop to my knees as reality sinks in. It is his ring. The wedding ring. All of a sudden I cannot breathe anymore and time seems to slow down. This is his blood.

* * *

I don't know how much time has passed. It might have been minutes, might have been days, when I snap back to reality because of a whimpering sound. I quickly turn around and crawl away from the door. My first instinct is that they must have found me. The biters have somehow managed to get into the building. They must be able to smell much better than I thought. I frantically scramble for my knife that I left where I first crouched to the floor, when I hear the whimpering sound again. But this time I realize it is coming from my mouth. I reach up my hands to touch my face and realize that I am crying. _He is dead_. The reality sinks in with more pain than I anticipated. All these weeks after the outbreak I have kept going by the hope that he is still alive. Atlanta was the goal. Going back home. And now this hope is shattered and I have to deal with the harshness and cruelty of this new world. Outside it is getting dark again and I lie down on the floor and close my eyes. I am not ready to deal with reality.

That night I dream of our wedding. We got married in Vegas, what a cliche. But it was perfect for us and our messy relationship. It was spontaneous and chaotic, and there was a lot of alcohol involved. I had been 21 and he had been 24. We originally just came to Vegas to celebrate a friend's birthday, and when we had a few too many drinks we thought it was the best idea we've ever had to get married, so we did. And when we woke up the next morning, hungover, we just went along with it.  
I dream about saying yes, and walking out of the chapel. Once we get to the limousine, something about Bellamy changes. At first I do not notice what it is, I just feel anxious all of a sudden. Then I realize it is his eyes. The usually warm brown has turned into a cold blue. He kisses me and when he stops and I open my eyes, he is suddenly not Bellamy anymore. His left ear is missing and part of his cheek, and he is not trying to kiss me anymore, but to bite.

I wake up wanting to scream.

It is dark but there is a little moonlight shining in through the window, just enough to lighten the room a bit. I remember where I am and what happened and immediately, I feel a heavy weight on my chest. _Bellamy is dead._

I listen for any other noises, to check if my nightmare has drawn in any unwelcome guests, but all I hear is silence and my own elevated heartbeat. All of a sudden I realize how hungry I am, I have not eaten the entire day yesterday. I rummage in my bag until I find the can of food I threw through the window. Cheese tortellini. I collect the utensils I need to open the can from the kitchen and start having a cold dinner back in my spot on the living room floor. I do not know how long I sit there, or when I have fallen asleep, but when I wake up the sun is already shining.

I look at the blood once again and my breath falls short. It breaks my heart that I won't ever know what happened to him. I slowly lean forward and pick up his wedding band from where it is lying on the carpet. I turn it around in my hand for a while. Eventually, I take off my necklace and put the ring on it. Then, I take off my own ring and put it around the necklace as well. The two belong together, they are a set. When I have put the necklace around my neck again, I slowly get up and walk into the bathroom. Hesitantly, I turn on the tap of the shower and to my surprise, the water starts running. It is cold, but it is running. Usually this would excite me, but I can just stare at the stream with an indifferent expression. I carefully close the bathroom door and lock it behind me, not knowing why, and then I take off my clothes and step under the flowing water. It is cold, but it is the best I've had in weeks. Washing my hair takes about ten minutes, it is that filthy. The water comes out of the shower clean and leaves my body grey.  
When I am done, I dry myself off with my towel that is still in its usual place, then I walk to our bedroom and get fresh clothes from the closet. I choose grey jeans, a black tank top and my olive green bomber jacket. My hair, dark red from the water, I wear down so it can dry. Then, I grab my travel backpack from the bottom of my closet and start packing it with clothes. I will never come back to my apartment, so I might as well take as much as I can to survive for a while.  
When I have finished packing clothes, I walk over to the safe in which I have stored my own gun and ammunition. I put the gun in the waistband of my jeans and store the ammunition in one of the front pockets of my backpack, so I can access it quickly when I need it. Then, I return to the bathroom, take the cop's gun from where I left it on the floor when I was undressing, and pack it as well. Then, I pack deodorant, other hygiene products, and everything from our medicine cabinet.  
When I have finished in the bathroom, I walk to the kitchen and raid the cabinets for all the cans of food that are left. There are not as many as I thought we had left, but it is enough to keep me alive for a while. Before I leave the kitchen I pack the big knives as well as some cutlery. When I have packed everything I need, I close the backpack and put it on. By this time it is quite heavy.  
Finally, I walk back into the living room, pick up the knife that I have left there, take one last, painful look at the stain, and then turn around and walk back into the hallway and take our picture from the bulletin board. I look at Bellamy with a sad smile and press a kiss to the paper. I then fold it in half and put it in the pocket of my jeans.

I leave the apartment via the fire escape, knowing the street would likely still be full of the biters I have drawn in yesterday. I climb down the ladder and end up in an empty alley. There is one biter on the ground, but she is missing a leg, so she is just biting and grabbing into thin air - no real threat. I make my way down the streets, ignoring the biters in the distance. I just want to get out of the city. I feel numb. Only one thing is going through my mind: _Bellamy is dead._

When I turn a corner, only semi conscious of where I am going, I am faced with a mass of biters. I quickly stumble back around the corner and press my back against the wall. My heart is pounding heavily in my chest. I need to be more careful. Across from me I can see a fence. It is on the same street as the mass of biters, but in the opposite direction. On the other side of the fence I can see a few cars and no infected. It might be worth a try. I take a deep breath and run for the fence as fast as I can, and quickly scramble over it. I run over to the closest car, open the door, and realize with a surprised expression that someone has left the keys in the ignition. I am just about to sit down in the drivers seat when curiosity gets the better of me. I look back to the mass of biters who are walking toward the fence, into my direction. They almost look like a herd, I wonder. That can't be. They are not animals. Why are they moving in a crowd? Something irritates me about the mass of them, but I cannot make out what it is. My eyes wander from one to another when I notice two familiar faces. It's the Asian guy and the cop that I have seen yesterday, when they were walking into the department store. Their clothes are completely drenched in blood. _So they were bitten_. But something does not look right about it. They are both carrying axes. Can infected still carry axes? Why would they? Then I see it. They are exchanging looks. A curious thought enters my mind. Are they disguised? How crazy do you have to be?  
 _Or how brilliant?  
_ I watch them closely - they look nervous. All of a sudden I feel a drop on my face and I jump. Only when I turn around and do not see anything do I realize that it has started to rain. From one second to another the skies seem to bursts open and it is pouring down on us. I look over to the two disguised figures again. They look frantic now, exchanging panicked looks. I see a biter smelling them, and as if on command both of them start running toward the fence.

There are so many dead ones around them that I realize they will never make it out. Again, my body is working on its own, and I feel myself climbing on top of the car. I reach for my gun, release the safety, and with a calculated shot I manage to hit one of the biters that was just about to take a bite out of the police officer. "Over here you idiots!" I hear myself shouting. If I were not so busy concentrating on my aim I would be surprised about the fact that I am helping the people I was hiding from just one day ago. Apparently having seen my apartment, there is nothing left to lose anymore.  
Both of them are looking at me confused and suspicious, yet the situation does not really allow them to do anything other than to run into my direction. I shoot a couple more biters that are close to hurting the two men, then jump down and sit in the driver's seat. I turn the keys and the car starts to roar. _Thank God._ I turn my head and see the Asian and the Policeman climbing over the fence - the biters dangerously close.

"Come on, come on, come on!" I shout. The infected are getting too close for my comfort. The two do not have any choice but to get in the car with me, the Policeman getting in the front and the Asian guy jumping in the back, both of them breathing heavily. I step on the gas right when the first biters are breaking through the fence.

"You two must be a special kind of crazy," I say as I steer the car through the empty streets of Atlanta, away from the mass of biters.

"It worked until the rain started," the Asian guy says in defense. Just when I want to answer I feel the barrel of a gun on my temple.

"Who are you?" the Policeman says from the passenger seat, his voice cold and calculating.

"Pointing a gun at my head seems a little ungrateful, don't you think?" I notice relieved that my voice sounds much calmer than I actually am. My heart is hammering in my chest. Was it a mistake to help them?

"Rick, come on! She's driving!" the guy from the back intervenes. He seems alright. But since the other one is still pointing a gun at my face, I decide to give them some more information.

"My name is Zoey. I used to live here. I was on my way out of the city when I saw you idiots disguised in the crowd of the infected. So call me naive but you looked like you needed a little help. I don't care if you trust me or not, as a police officer I think you will be smarter than to shoot me while you're sitting in a car that I'm driving."

This seems to have somewhat worked. He is lowering his gun, but I notice that he is not putting the safety back on.

"How are we gonna get Daryl and T-Dog out? They're surrounded." The policeman says to the man in the back. "We can't leave them behind."

When I think we are far enough from the biters, I pull the car over. "Looks like you have some planning to do. Where are your friends hiding at the moment? Still at the department store?"

As soon as the words leave my mouth the gun is back at my head. "How do you know that?!" The policeman inquires heatedly.

"Whoa, whoa. Calm down," I say and raise my hands in defense. "I saw you four entering the store yesterday. I was on my way to my apartment and hid behind a dumpster."

He eyes me suspiciously and I immediately regret offering that much information. Why did I help these people? Why am I giving them information about myself?

"Rick, come on, we don't have time. We have to get them out."  
I am thankful for the Asian guy breaking the tension. He somehow seems trustworthy. I am clearing my throat. "Listen, I can help you guys if you want. I don't care if you believe me or trust me or whatever. I am offering you my help once. You don't want it - I leave. I don't want to stay in this goddamn city any longer than I have to, so make up your mind. Now."

To my relief, the man called Rick lowers his gun after I have finished speaking. A small smile forms on his lips and he starts shaking his head lightly.

"Alright then."


	3. The Camp

The plan is for me to get in a car and draw the biters away from the department store with noise, while Rick and the Asian man, whose name is Glenn, get in their car, to which I drove them, and get their people. We will meet outside of the city at the first exit of the highway after.  
My part had worked as planned. I had driven into the street of the department store where I had found the crowd of biters, had honked my horn - a lot - and when I had their full attention I had slowly backed out of the street and lured the masses away from the department store. I had also noticed that Rick and Glenn call them walkers.  
I was now waiting at the exit of the highway where I was supposed to meet Rick and Glenn and the others. I had turned off the car and climbed on top, from the roof I had the best view to see who, or what, was coming at me.

As I am sitting on the roof, waiting, my thoughts trail to why I helped them. As much as my instinct had told me to hide from them the first time, it had told me to help them the second time, when I saw them today. Maybe if they are as crazy as to walk among the biters, they cannot be evil? This makes little sense, but I try to come up with excuses to tell myself I did the right thing. I think Rick was not completely convinced to let me help and take responsibility, but Glenn somehow managed to talk him into it. I overheard something about "like I did for you", so I assume Glenn and Rick used to be strangers, too. I am wondering if they will actually meet me here or just drive off into some other direction, simply talking advantage of my help and then leaving me behind. At least I am outside of the city.

* * *

Time passes and they are not coming, so much that I am starting to doubt that they are coming at all. As I sit on the roof of the car, my thoughts cannot help but come back to Bellamy. He is dead _._ Now that I know as much, I suddenly feel at a loss of what to do if the guys don't come back. My reason to go to Atlanta was to find out what happened, and now that I know that he is dead, I don't know where to go from here. There is that weight on my chest again. I think the worst part is not that he is dead, but that I don't know what happened. How did he die? Who killed him? Was it a biter or a person? I am unconsciously holding the rings on my necklace.

I wish I could have talked to him before everything went downhill. I was in Mableton for a seminar when it happened. The seminar was cancelled on the fourth day because too many people were sick. Infected, as it turned out later. I wanted to get back to my motel, but my room had been broken into, and all my stuff was stolen. But it wasn't only my room. As it turned out, most of the rooms had been broken into. It was the beginning of the raids that were part of the protests which happened right before the end. Bellamy and I talked about the weird infections the days before, apparently it was bad at home. But I could not talk to him when our seminar was cancelled, since all my stuff - including money and cellphone - was gone. I went to the police, but it was overrun. Everyone was freaking out because of the infections and dead people coming back to life. I was freaked out. I was scared. I just wanted to go home, so I decided to try to hitchhike back to Atlanta instead of waiting for the transport that was promised the day after next, but it was an absolute state of chaos. Everyone was scared, no one knew what was happening. Eventually I managed to get a ride with a nice couple and we just got out of the city when the officials bombed Mableton. I could not believe what I was seeing. This was the first time I realized just how bad the situation was. After that everything just went to shit. I still cannot believe I even made it back to Atlanta. It was the hope to find Bellamy that kept me going, I assume. Why else would I walk into a city that is full of dead people? And for what? _He is dead,_ a part of me mourns. _At least you know_.  
I am ripped out of my thoughts by the sound of an engine; a car is arriving. It is the one of the guys. So they _did_ come back. I do not know why, but I feel immensely relieved. I do not even know these people. They could be dangerous, but somehow I don't believe they are.

The car approaches; Rick is driving. He is wearing his immensely grotesque police hat again. I have to laugh and shake my head. Is that guy serious? He stops the car next to mine and they tell me to follow them. I can hear the redneck shouting from the back: "What the hell? Why would we take her?", but he is ignored by the others. Glenn gets out of the passenger seat of Rick's car to ride with me, and Rick starts to drive again. Glenn and me get into my car and we follow the others.

"So what were you doing in the city?" I ask but Glenn hesitates, so I add: "You don't have to tell me, you know."

He smiles at me. "We were trying to rescue Daryl's brother, but he was gone."

"Daryl?"

"The angry guy."

"Okay… Where are we going now?"

"We have a camp outside of the city. There's actually a lot more of us."

I don't know what to make of that yet. A lot more of them. That could end up really good or really bad. Depending if the others take more after Daryl or after Glenn. I decide to just go with it. I am on the way already anyway, and I don't have anywhere else to go. _Not anymore._

I try to push Bellamy from my thoughts.

"There's actually even kids at our camp," Glenn mentions.

"Children?" I am starting to become a little more hopeful about this camp of theirs.

"What happened to your hand?" Glenn asks after we have been silent for a while, gesturing toward the improvised bandage around my left hand.

"Oh, I cut myself on glass," I say simply. When I turn my head to face him, he is still looking at me. "I wasn't bitten, if that's what you're wondering," I add with a smile.

When Rick finally pulls off the freeway and continues driving down a dirt road, it has already started to get dark. The road twists and turns itself like a snake through a forest and then past meadows, steadily growing steeper, taking us further into the wilderness. According to Glenn we are really close to camp when we hear gunshots and Rick brings his car to a screeching halt. I stop behind the camper.

"Oh no, Merle!" I hear Glenn exclaiming as he jumps out of the car in a hurry and starts to run in the direction of the camp. So does everyone in the car in front of me. I take a deep breath and get out of the car. Now that I have chosen to follow this group, there is no other option than to hurry after them and face whatever is going on at the camp. I pull my gun from my waistband and make sure that the magazine is still full; then I start running.

There is a lot of screaming and gunshots and I would rather just run off in the opposite direction. I force myself to go on and when I reach the camp, I see what had happened: They were overrun by biters. There are infected everywhere, eating off people, trying to reach people that are still alive to taste fresh meat. I don't know where to start. I am overwhelmed by so much chaos. Then I see a little blonde girl standing at the edge of the camp, screaming desperately for her mother, a biter stumbling towards her. Across the camp a woman is standing in the door of a camper van. She has short grey hair and looks terrified and panicked. "Sophia!" she continues to scream over and over again. I assume the little blonde girl is her daughter and start approaching the walker that is trying to attack her. When I am close enough, I raise my gun and shoot it straight in the head. He collapses right there and then.

"Come on, sweetie, it's okay. Come here," I say, but the girl does not move an inch. Out of nowhere I feel something pushing me from behind. I stumble but don't fall, and when I turn around there is another walker trying to get a bite of me. I raise my gun and when the bullet hits it, it falls over like a tree. I quickly use my right arm to wipe some of the blood that sprayed on me out of my face. I turn back around to the little girl; my heart is hammering rapidly in my chest.

"Your name is Sophia, right? My name is Zoey," I start and approach her carefully, all the while making sure no other biter is close to us. "It's okay, you can come with me. I will bring you over to your mother. I won't let anything happen to you."

The little girl looks scared out of her mind, but she takes my hand and I am able to lead her back to the camper where her mother embraces her and pulls her into the van. I look around at the chaos. There are infected everywhere. I see Daryl and Rick shooting, fighting the attack. There are other people fighting too. I close the door to the van, so the mother and her daughter are safe inside, and join the fight.

I have never been more thankful to have been trained at shooting a gun. One of the first things I was taught was that you cannot be unsure once you pick it up. You need to know that you are mentally prepared to shoot it – no insecurities. Fear is normal, but you cannot let the fear control you. That is what I try to remember while defending a camp I am not even a part of. _Don't let the fear control you._

As soon as the attack seemed to start (for me at least, being thrown right into it), it stops. People are standing in the middle of the camp, confused, looking around to make sure no biter is left. The silence is broken by a cry. I turn on my heels, but drop my gun as soon as I lifted it. The cry came from a blonde woman who is kneeling next to a wounded woman on the ground. They look similar. Sisters? She is crying and I feel like I am prying on an intimate moment, so I look away. My eyes find Rick standing next to a tall, brunette woman and a little boy. His family? Out of the corner of my eye I see someone approaching me and when I turn, I find that it is the mother of the little girl, the woman with the short grey hair. She approaches me hesitantly. "Who are you?"

I try to sound reassuring: "My name is Zoey. I met Rick and Glenn and the others in the city. They brought me here."

The woman nods her head. "You saved my little girl. Thank you."

"Don't mention it, anyone would've done it." I feel awkward and am not able to hold eye contact, so instead, I look from the ground to the trees around me.

"Her own father wouldn't have done it."

This takes me by surprise. I did not anticipate an answer like that and I don't know how to respond. So I just stare at her, unable to find the right words to say. I don't think there are any. Eventually, she turns around and goes back into the camper. I see her little girl watching me from the window.

* * *

The next morning arrives sooner than anyone is ready for it. I have hardly slept, even though Glenn offered me space in his tent. When I crawl outside, everyone seems to be up already, seemingly still in shock from the events of last night. The blonde woman is still kneeling next to the dead woman. Daryl and T-Dog already started to clean up the dead biters and burn them. Since I do not really know anyone in camp, I decide to help them so I won't feel awkward standing around. I grab the legs of a dead biter closest to me and start pulling it to where they have their pile of dead. Daryl does not seem to be happy about it, but T-Dog is friendly and thanks me for helping.

The morning passes somewhat eventful. The blonde woman, I learn that her name is Andrea and she did indeed lose her sister, points a gun at Rick when he tries to shoot her sister, yet she eventually has to shoot her herself; and it turns out another member of the camp has been bitten. I feel like I am intruding on the group, so I place myself on the edge of the camp, sit down on a fallen tree and eat some of my stored food until things seem to clear up. Eventually, I see Rick coming over. He wordlessly sits down next to me, still wearing his police uniform, including the hat. He looks tired and his face is heavy, yet he is court with me.

"I want to thank you for helping," he starts, but I can sense that there is more.

"But?" I ask, hoping he won't send me away.

"I don't trust you," he says plainly.

I chuckle at his remark. "I don't expect you to."

We are quiet for a while before he speaks again. "Why were you alone in Atlanta?"

"Did I mention I don't trust you either" I say and look at him, my expression lighter than my words. I can see the hint of a smile on his lips. "Fair enough. But why did you help us?"

"Call it stupidity or call it optimism. It was more impulse than a thought-out plan of action," I tell him.

"Okay." He looks at me for a moment. "Thank you," he says again before he gets up and leaves. I look after him until my eyes land on Carl, Rick's son, who is standing next to a tree close by, watching me curiously but careful.

"You hungry?" His eyes grow bigger at the question and I smile. "Come on, it's okay. I'll share with you." He slowly walks over to me, his clothes seem very clean.

"You seem awfully clean for the fact that you live in a tent in the woods," I grin.

"We regularly wash our clothes, there is a lake a down that path," he points in the direction of the trees to my left.

"You do, don't you? Well that is very neat," I tell him and hand my can over to him, and he starts eating hastily.

* * *

At midday there is a meeting to decide what the camp will do next. Since everyone is curious as to who the new girl is, Rick starts with introducing me and telling the story of how we met. Afterwards, he quickly switches the topic and goes through the possibilities they have now, and I am grateful that the attention is drawn away from me and people stop eyeing me curiously. It is quickly decided that the camp will move on and try to get to the CDC. If there is any hope, it will be at the center of disease control. After the meeting is over, everyone goes about their business, packing up and getting ready to leave. Since I am not sure if I have been accepted as a new member of the camp, I just awkwardly keep standing where I am, unsure of what to do. Rick's wife Lori seems to sense my uncertainty, and soon tall brunette walks over to me and throws a little towel in my direction.

"You know, you should clean up a bit before we leave," she says teasingly. When I look at her questioningly she starts laughing.

"Judging by the look on your face I assume you haven't checked a mirror yet?"

She directs me to the camper van. Inside I find a little basin with water and a mirror. When I see my reflection I realize that there is an insane amount of blood on my face and my neck, there is almost more blood than skin. I had not realized how much blood had sprayed on me during the fight and the cleaning up. It is no surprise the children were so cautions around me. I take off my jacket before I take the small towel Lori gave me and dip it in the water. Then, I begin to scrub my face and my neck, and eventually my arms. When I have finally managed to get all the blood off of me, my skin is red from all the scrubbing. I clean the towel, hang it to dry, and put my jacket back on.  
When I exit the camper van, Glenn is standing next almost next to me.

"Look at you all cleaned up. Much better," he grins and I roll my eyes at him but smile nonetheless. It is nice to act normal and effortless with someone when the last weeks have been so lonely and full of anxiety.

* * *

When the camp starts heading off, I am put in a jeep with a man named Shane. He is a man of average height, but everything from his composure to his form is intimidating. He is strong and has a hard, unforgiving face, and short black hair. As Glenn told me, he had been Rick's partner back when the world was okay, and while he is driving he is looking at me out of the corner of his eyes, very calculating and suspicious. I try to not let it bother me and tell myself that this is the normal reaction of a police officer during these times, always be on guard. We drive in silence.  
We have not been driving long when the RV an old man named Dale is driving breaks down and we are forced to stop and fix it. Everybody seems annoyed that we have to stop again after having driven for only such a short time. I volunteer to go down the road with Shane and T-Dog to look for parts to fix the van. I make my way through the rows of cars we have been circling around for the past hour, trying to ignore the corpses that are still sitting in some of the cars. Since there are plenty of cars it thankfully does not take long to find the fitting part, but when we get back to the group, there is another problem waiting for us. The man who was bitten, Jim, is not going to make it much longer. He wants us to leave him. Rick and Shane carry him out of the camper and put him up against a tree in a sitting position.

"Do you want this?" Rick asks Jim and holds up his gun.

"No, you need it, " Jim answers weakly. "I'm okay."

Everyone looks upset and it is evident that they feel guilty for leaving Jim behind. Even Rick and Shane let down their masks and look affected. When the caravan moves on, Shane and I are still not talking. Given the situation, I assume it is the same in the other cars.

It takes us about six hours to reach the CDC. The roads had been a mess, but with careful driving and a lot of luck, we have managed to make it through the mess of the highway. In front of the CDC there is a roadblock. We leave the cars and continue on foot, everybody cautious and anxious as to what we will find. It takes about five seconds until all hope that we had to find civilization, to find shelter, vanishes. There are dead soldiers on the ground, flies buzzing around their rotting corpses. They are everywhere. On the street. On the barricades. Dead bodies everywhere.

"Damn", I whisper. If there was hope for us here, it wouldn't look like this. Even here the human world was overrun. I can see my thoughts mirrored in the faces of the others. We make our way down the street towards the building carefully, trying to avoid stepping on any body parts. The rotten smell is almost unbearable and I can hear the others around me coughing and gagging. I am covering my nose and mouth with the sleeve of my jacket.

"Come on, stay quiet. Just go." Shane says to the group and ushers us to follow Rick. I am trying not to look at the corpses but I cannot manage to pull my eyes away. Almost all of them are missing parts of their bodies, whether it is a bit of their arms or their faces. Some still have their eyes open, staring in dead panic. There is blood everywhere and a cold shiver runs down my back. The closer we get to the CDC, the more bodies there are. "Oh God", even Rick is freaked out.

We finally manage to get to the building, but the entrances are sealed off. This does not surprise me. Rick and Shane are pushing against the doors and hammer on it, but nothing happens. This is a dead end, there is no one left alive. I am starting to feel really anxious.

"Rick this is a graveyard. We should go," I say carefully.

"Then why are these shutters down?" Rick sounds like he is trying to suppress desperation. When a biter appears behind us, the mood switches from anxiety to slight panic. Daryl shoots it with his crossbow, and then gets in an argument with Shane. Shane turns around and approaches Rick.

"Rick, this is a dead end! Do you hear me?!"

"Where should we go?" Carol asks nervously. I look around anxiously to see if more biters are coming, drawn in by the noises we make.

"She's right. We can't be this close to the city in the dark!" Lori says heatedly. The atmosphere is tense. Everyone is uneasy, everyone wants to move – whether out of the city or into the building – but just move. Simply standing here in front of the closed doors feels too exposed and passive.

"Fort Denning, Rick. Still an option," Shane says but Andrea cuts him off. "On what? No food, no fuel! There's 26 of us!"

"We need to find shelter. We're too exposed; there's too many of us," I agree, because I am starting to get very uneasy.

"We'll think of something!" Rick says more to Lori than to me. I am not sure he even heard me. Shane is telling everyone to go back to the cars and everyone is moving immediately. Only Rick stays behind at the doors.

"The camera. It moved!" he exclaims all of a sudden and we all stop in our tracks.

"You imagined it," Dale says anxiously. Rick moves closer to the camera and Shane follows him, trying to convince him to leave. I cannot imagine that the camera moved either, there is no one left here. I just want to leave and I can feel everyone around me getting uneasier by the minute. Glenn and I exchange a look, and I know he also wants to move. We have to hurry; because it is starting to get really dark really fast. Instead, Rick starts banging on the shutters.

"I know you're in there! I know you can hear me! Please! Please help us, we have women, children!" Rick is screaming now. Lori is running up to him and starts to try to get her husband to give up false hope and just leave. I look around and realize there are a lot of biters coming towards us. Rick's screaming is drawing them in.

"Biters!" I yell and people around me are turning around to face the incoming threat. We need to leave immediately, yet Rick continues to bang on the door and shout for a nonexistent person to help us. Shane moves in and has to forcefully pull him away.

"You're killing us! You're killing us!" – Rick sounds frantic. He finally turns around to run away with the rest of us when a buzzing sound makes us stop. When I turn around, I see that one of the doors is slowly opening, filling the now dark evening with light.


	4. CDC

It turns out there is someone left alive at the CDC. A doctor named Jenner leads us into the building. He is the only survivor. We all agree to subject to a blood test in order to be able to get inside, and afterwards Jenner leads us into the dining room and we have a big dinner. None of us have eaten properly in days and the amount of food left at the CDC makes our jaws drop. There even is wine! Because no one has had a drop to drink in what feels like ages, the alcohol kicks in accordingly fast. Everyone is cheerful, excited about the best food we had since the outbreak, laughing at Carl tasting wine for the first time and making a face. "That's my boy," Lori grins. Rick makes a toast to our savior, yet Shane manages to ruin the mood by asking about the outbreak and why Jenner is the only person left here. Apparently, the other doctors either left or committed suicide when they realized how bad the situation was.

After the feast Doctor Jenner leads us down to where we can make our quarters for the night. My jaw drops when he tells us to go easy on the hot water. Hot water! When I am in the room that was assigned to me I don't lose time; I take off my clothes as soon as the door closes behind me and jump into the shower. Jenner was not lying, the water is actually warm. What I used to take for granted a few months ago is a luxury I could cry happy tears over now. I stand in the steaming shower for a long time, just letting the water run over me, cleaning my dirty skin and cuts. When I dry off and look in the mirror I almost look back to normal. I check my palm where the glass has cut me and to my delight notice that it is healing perfectly. I won't even need a bandage anymore. I have had a big dinner, a warm shower, a safe place to sleep. This is almost too good to be true.

I decide to take my dirty clothes and clean them in the shower. I should take advantage of this situation for as long as I can. When I've finished I put the clothes over the bunk bed to dry and remember the bottle of wine I snuck out of the kitchen. I grin and walk over to the table, open it up and take a big gulp. It tastes like the best wine I ever had. I take the bottle and decide to explore my surroundings. The complex we are in is huge. I walk down the hallway with the bedrooms and come to a living room. Inside, I can see Lori, Carl, Sofia and Carol, laughing and goofing around. They have not seen me, so I turn around. The good feeling and joy I felt vanishes out of me within a few seconds. It was a relief to be safe, but now that I don't have to be scared, now that there is no danger, I have time to work through what happened for the first time. Seeing the families reminds me of what I lost and a sadness and emptiness overwhelms me that I have never felt in this crushing intensity. _Bellamy, Octavia, Raven, Murphy, Finn, Clarke.  
_ All these people here know each other, are friends, family. If my friends are even still alive I would still never see them again. I lean against the wall in the hallway and sink down until I am sitting of the floor. I take another sip and start feeling like the outsider again.

I am so immersed in my thoughts that I don't notice Rick coming around the corner, a bottle of alcohol in hand himself. "So, I see I'm not the only one sneaking out alcohol."

I look up at him and smile. "It was just too tempting. This is probably the best wine I've ever had."

He sits down opposite of me and I eye him curiously. "So what are you gonna do with all your time, now that you don't have to play the all worried, always-on-watch Sheriff anymore?"

"Oh you know, I'm thinking I'll try out a lighter career. Maybe I'll be the janitor, or the class-clown. I always wanted to be the class-clown," he jokes and takes another sip from his bottle.

"Well, you're on the right way to being the class-clown with that hat of yours," I laugh.

"Hey! What's wrong with my hat?!" He looks offended but amused.

"Nothing. It's dashing."

We laugh and joke around for a bit before we both fall silent. He looks at me for a long time before he speaks again. "So, where did you learn how to shoot as well as you do?"

"Oh, that's a long story."

He doesn't reply but gives me an inquiring look.

"One that I'm not going to bore you with now," I add.

"Okay, so you're sticking with the mystery." He smiles but I can feel that the mood has changed a bit. I start playing with my necklace without noticing it, and realize that if I ever want to be fully integrated in this group I am going to have to give up at least a bit of information about myself.

"I'm married," I start. "Well, was." I show Rick the rings on my necklace. I continue talking without looking at him. "That's why I was in Atlanta. When the outbreak started I was in Mableton, so I didn't know if he was okay. I made my way back to Atlanta to check our apartment. I knew that even if he was alive, the chances that he would be there would be very slim, but I just needed to make sure. When I got there he was gone, but the living room was all the proof I needed to know that he is dead. It was chaos, everything was thrown over, and there was a big pool of blood. I found his ring next to it." I pause, because I know I am close to tears and I don't want to cry in front of Rick. My voice cracks a little when I continue speaking. "I wish I knew what happened, but I don't get to."

I eventually force myself to look at Rick. His face doesn't give anything away, yet his eyes look…sad?

"I'm sorry," he says finally.

"We all took our losses," I try to sound tougher than I feel. "I'm gonna head to bed now. I haven't slept properly in weeks." I get up without waiting for an answer and walk back down the hallway towards my room. When I reach it I close the door behind me just in time before the tears come. I put the bottle of wine away; drinking more would just make it worse. Then I take off my shoes and curl up on the bed.

* * *

" _No Octavia, no no no! I'm not gonna be able to do another shot! We did 5 in the last 30 minutes!" I laugh, yet drink it anyway._

 _We are in our regular bar downtown, and we all had way too much to drink. The tequila burns in my throat and I look at Bellamy's sister, who grins mischievously. Everyone is here: Octavia, Raven, Clarke, Murphy, Finn, Bellamy, even Monty and Jasper. And everyone is hammered. The girls and I are standing at the bar and I excuse myself to go to the bathroom. On my way I run into Bellamy, his hair is messy and his dark eyes are glowing when he sees me. I can't help but put my hands on his face._

 _"Excuse me, Mister. You are way too handsome to just be walking around like this. I should chain you to my bed and not let you leave the house ever again." He laughs, and when he speaks his voice is raspy from the alcohol. "You can do that when we get home", he smirks and kisses me. "Hurry up, we're gonna go to another bar in a minute", with that he leaves and I quickly use the bathroom. When I wash my hands I notice that I have a hint of red-wine-lips. Great. I make a mental note to myself to not drink red wine anymore when I plan on leaving the house._

 _When I get back to the others we drink up and head outside. The night is cold but nice, and we start heading to our next stop. Raven and I go up front and she is starting to tell me about the ridiculous pick-up line a guy just used on her. I tell her that it's so hilarious that we need to tell the others, but when we turn around everyone is gone. The street is completely empty. "Huh, where is everyone?" I ask, confused._

 _"I don't know, maybe they turned at the last crossing without telling us." She points at the street we just crossed. I jog ahead but the street is empty._

 _"No Raven, they're not here. Maybe they went into another pub."_

 _I turn around to check with her, but Raven is not there anymore. "Raven?"_

 _I'm anxious now, this does not feel right. I cautiously move forward again, and I realize what is freaking me out. It is not just that my friends are not there anymore - the streets are completely empty. It is a Saturday night in Atlanta; there were dozens of people just a minute ago. Something is wrong. I jump when I hear a whimpering sound coming from an alley. I move toward it slowly and see a girl crouching in the shadows._

 _"Clarke? Is that you?" I ask, but she does not answer me. I continue moving toward her, and when I get close enough to see her face, I scream. She has a bullet wound in her head and there is blood everywhere. Her dead eyes are scanning me like I am her next meal, and I try to get away from her as quickly as I can. When I'm back on the road I see a body lying in the middle of the street, and I immediately notice the dark flock of hair._

 _"No, no, no, no..." I run towards him and kneel down on the ground. There are chunks missing from him everywhere: a piece of his leg, of his shoulder, his left ear is gone. "No, no, no. Bellamy! HELP! I need help!" I am sobbing and try to stop the bleeding that seems to come from his whole body._

 _"Please, somebody help me!" By this point I am in a state of absolute panic. All of a sudden I feel a hand grabbing my arm, and when I turn around I see Murphy holding on to me. Yet he is not Murphy anymore. His eyes are milky and his jaw is snapping at me. I look around to see the rest of my friends. They are all in the same state as Murphy, and they are coming for me. The last thing I see is Murphy's mouth closing in on my arm._

* * *

When I wake up, I am drenched in sweat and my heart is hammering in my chest as if it were about to burst through my rip cage. The first part of my dream was not a dream but a memory. We celebrated Finn's birthday that night. I don't need a psychologist to tell me what that dream meant. I sit up in bed and turn on the light. My hands are shaking and I have a headache, but that's probably from the alcohol. That dream felt way too real.

I get up and walk to the shower. I take off my drenched clothes and turn the water on cold. I stand under the water until I have calmed down a little bit. I don't know how long I have slept, but I feel like I should check on the others. I quickly put the gray jeans, black tank-top and olive green bomber jacket that I washed yesterday, thankful that they have dried already. As I am crossing the room I notice the picture of Bellamy and I lying on the floor. It must have fallen out of my pants yesterday. I pick it up, fold it and put it back into my jeans pocket. I don't know why, but I also pick up my gun and put it in my waistband. _You never know._ When I exit my room there is frenzy. I enter the hallway just when the lights are shutting down. Everyone is in the hallway and looks anxious.

"What's happening?" I ask. Lori comes over to me and tells me that the building is running out of power, that the fuel tanks are empty. Dr. Jenner walks pasts us with a bottle of alcohol in his hand. "The lights aren't a priority?" Dale asks him. "That's not up to me," Dr. Jenner answers matter-of-factly.

Is he preparing to die? Is that what is going to happen when the power turns off? Following my gut feeling, I grab my backpack with all my things before I start following him. He walks back to the control center. When everyone has followed him, he explains that everything is shutting down because the power is running out. Everyone is stunned into silence while Dr. Jenner continues to drink from his bottle. When he finally speaks again he tells us that it was the French that held out the longest, but even they ran out of power.

"Everybody pack your bags. We're getting out of here _now_!" Rick commands and people turn to gather their belongings, but before they can get far an alarm sound is going off and the computer informs us that it is 30 minutes to decontamination. Everyone looks scared, Carl is holding on to his dad's leg.

Rick shouts that we should get our stuff and hurry, but the doors close right in front of us. We are locked in. I look around and see that others, like me, had already brought their backpacks as well, but what worries me are the doors. Even though this room is huge, I am starting to feel claustrophobic. Are we going to die here?

"Did you just lock us in?" Glenn asks incredulously. "He locked us in!" He is shouting now. This is when all hell breaks loose. Daryl is trying to attack Jenner and the others have to hold him back; everyone is shouting.

"I told you: once that front door closes, it wouldn't open again. You heard me say that," Jenner says matter-of-factly. _This is not happening_. This cannot be happening. We cannot have fought our way through all the things that we have just to die in here.

"What happens in 28 minutes?" Rick asks, looking at the time code.

"You know what this place is!" Jenner is shouting now. "We've protected the public from very nasty stuff! Stuff that you don't want getting out! EVER!" He pauses, everyone is stunned. "In the event of a catastrophic power failure" he continues calmly, "a terrorist attack for example, HITs are deployed to prevent any organisms from getting out."

"HITs?" Rick asks.

And then we all stand in disbelief as we listen to the computer explain that the building will explode at the end of the countdown. _So this is it_. Only a few days ago I thought that I had nothing left to live for, yet somehow this feels wrong. I realize that I don't want to die. _Not like this_. I want at least the chance to try to survive. Some of the others are crying, some are angry. The guys are trying to break down the door; Rick is trying to convince Jenner to let us out.

"There is no hope. There never was," Jenner says calmly.

"There is always hope. Maybe it won't be you, maybe not here, but somebody, somewhere," Rick argues, but Andrea interrupts him: "What part of 'everything is gone' do you not understand?"

"Listen to your friend," Jenner says. "This is our extinction event."

The desperation is evident. I can't bear the situation and the shouting anymore, and when Daryl finally pulls a gun out, I snap. "Alright, everybody just stop it! This doesn't get us anywhere! We want to get out of here and we're not gonna get there by shooting people! Jenner, listen," I turn to the Doctor. "I understand where you're coming from, but we didn't have a say in this. You're deciding for us. To die! We just want a chance!"

Everybody has stopped shouting and it has become eerily quiet in the room. Eventually, Rick speaks up. "She's right." He turns to Jenner. "That's all we want. A choice. A chance."

"Let us keep trying as long as we can," Lori begs.

It works. _Thank God, it works._ Jenner opens the doors and everyone bolts, only Jacqui and Andrea stay behind. They want to stay here and die. It is hard to accept, but I can understand them. I understand why they stay. When Dale sees that Andrea is staying, he decides to stay as well. I can feel everyone being torn between not wanting to accept their suicide and getting out of here as fast as possible. The time is running out, we say goodbye and run back to ground level, but the front doors are sealed. The guys try to break the glass but it is hopeless, the glass does not even have a scratch. It is built to withstand more than mere axe-swinging.

"Rick, I think I have something that can help," Carol says.

"Carol, I don't think a nail file will do," Shane remarks and I can't help but feel a sudden rush of affection for him as I chuckle at his comment. Even in this life-or-death situation he still manages to be sarcastic. Maybe he isn't such a bad guy after all.

To everyone's surprise, Carol pulls a hand grenade out of her purse and hands it over to Rick. We all take cover and Rick throws the grenade – which works! The glass is blown to bits and we jump outside. There is a bunch of walkers coming our way and I pull out my gun and start shooting them while we run towards our cars. Right in front of me, Daryl cuts off a walkers' head with an axe and we all get into our rides. I throw my backpack into the jeep and jump back into the passenger seat of the car Shane and I have been sharing to get here, and right when we are about to leave Lori shouts that the others are coming. I look up and see Andrea and Dale climbing out through the window. _They need to hurry!_

"Get down!" Everyone is starting to shout. The building can blow up any second now. I am crouching down in my seat and cover my head with my arms. I can feel Shane leaning over me when the world around us starts to explode.


	5. Stranded

The events from the CDC left everyone shaken and distraught. We decide to try Fort Benning next, but it will be a 140 mile trip. It is going to be dangerous, but it is something. It is all the hope we have. The CDC was an unbelievable disappointment, even for me, but I did realize that I am not ready to give up on life yet. I am incredibly relieved that I listened to my gut and took my backpack from my quarters, so I have my clothes as well as two guns and knifes with me, which enabled me to hand out some of my knifes to those of who don't have anything anymore.

As we are heading toward our next destination, I am riding in the camper van with Dale, Andrea and Shane, T-Dog and Glenn. Dale is driving, Shane is teaching Andrea about guns, and I have retired to the back of the van with a book that I found in one of the shelves of the van. It is dull but these days I am glad about anything I can get my hands on. I am jerked from my reading when the van stops. "Oh no," I can hear Dale say from the front. I put down my book and move to the front, and when I get to the window I can see what the old man meant. The highway looks impassable – there is a big truck lying in the middle of our lane and abandoned cars are everywhere. Daryl rides up ahead on his motorcycle and motions us to follow him, but we have not made it far when the engine of our van breaks down. Again. _God_ _damn_.

* * *

Then again, there are worse places to break down than a road full of abandoned vehicles. As we realize this we spread out and search the cars for everything we could use: A radiator hose, tools, food, water. Thanks to our sudden departure at the CDC, most of us are in desperate need of the basic, simple things such as clothes. It seems macabre to take other people's clothes right out of their cars, but I am forcing myself not to think about it as I move through the rows of abandoned cars. This whole place feels eerie and I think Lori spoke for all of us when she described this highway as a graveyard.

The sun is standing high in the sky and it is a surprisingly hot day. I have left my jacket back in the camper and move down the highway in my black tank-top. I make my way through the rows of cars and manage to collect some clothes that might fit a number of people from our group. I try to stay away from the cars that still have bodies in them, the stench is almost unbearable even with closed doors. I am passing a dark blue Volvo with a corpse in the driver's seat when I notice that the man is holding a gun in his hand. As I look closer I see that he has a bullet wound in his right temple. He killed himself before the infected could get to him, I assume. I move around the car and carefully open the passenger door. The stench of death hits me right away and I start breathing through my mouth, trying to suppress my gag reflex. I carefully wrangle the gun free from the dead man's hand and once it's free, I check the magazine. Only one bullet missing. On a hunch, I open the glove compartment. Bingo! I find two magazines and carefully put the gun and the magazines in the bag with all the clothes I collected so far.

I am turning back to the road, excited about my recent find, when I notice that it has gotten really quiet around me. _Huh?_ I look around but do not see anyone, until I hear a shushing noise coming from my right. I turn around quickly and see Rick motioning for me to get down under a car. I quickly crouch down on the ground and while I am scrambling under the car of the man I just robbed, I catch a glimpse of what is approaching. Walkers _. A lot of them._ Irrationally I do not immediately think about the threat, but I wonder in surprise when I started calling them _walkers_ as well. How fast you adapt to the things and people around you.

Dozens of feet are shuffling down the road. Some of them limping, dragging one foot behind, some of them walking normally. My heart starts racing. If they find us there is no way of running, of getting out. We are surrounded. I close my eyes and try to think of something else, but quickly open them again. Not seeing anything is worse than seeing the feet. I turn around and catch a glimpse of Carol and Lori lying under a car nearby; Carol looks desperate. I cannot see what she is looking at but since Sophia is not with her I assume she was trapped under another car and did not make it back to her mother in time.

The shuffling seems to go on forever. As the masses are passing in between the cars I am wondering which is worse, seeing the feet or hearing the snarling noises they make. I am holding onto my gun harder than I have to and hope that I don't have to use it. Slowly, the density of feet is decreasing until eventually, even the late comers have passed. Just like in Atlanta, I am drawn back to the thought that they move like herds.

All of a sudden, there is a scream. High pitched and utmost disturbing, it is the scream of a child, of Sophia. When I look to my right I see her crawling under the barricade of the highway and run into the forest, a walker close behind. _Oh no._ Just as I begin to scramble out from under the car, Rick already takes off after her. With a shudder running down my spine I remember that Rick only has his gun and no knife. If he shoots the walker it will draw the rest of the herd back to us. I run over to Lori and Carol and place myself on Carols free side and help stabilize her. She is sobbing, saying 'my baby' over and over again.

"Shhh, Carol, if anyone can help her Rick can", I say and look over to Lori, who looks back at me. She looks as uncertain as I feel.

* * *

There is nothing else to do but wait. Daryl went after Rick, Carol stands watch at the edge of the forest, and the rest of us are trying to keep busy. Dale is working to fix the van, and I help move some cars around so our way will be free once the engine is fixed and Sophia is found.

I am just getting into another car when I hear a shriek. My first thought is that the herd is back, but when I look for the source I see Carl lying on the ground a few cars in front of me, a small, black pack lying on top of his chest, and a walker hanging halfway out of a car over him.

"Are you alright?" I say as I walk over to him.

"I just tried to get this from him, but it was stuck. I'm fine." He tries to sound nonchalant but I can tell that he is a bit shaken.

"What have you got there?"

"I don't know yet," he shrugs and carefully opens the black pack. It is an arsenal of knives, hatchets and even machetes. _Neat!_ Just what I was looking for a few weeks ago.

"I'm gonna take one of them off your hands little man," I say and take one of the machetes in my hand. There is even a holster for it, so I can put the weapon on my belt and carry it on me at all times. "You can take the rest and bring them to Shane or Dale. But be careful okay? They're not toys!"

"Yes, I know," he says and I can tell that he does not like to be talked to like he's still a child.

"Hey Carl?" I say as he starts to run towards the others, he stops and looks back to me. "Good job finding them. Seriously. They are extremely useful."

He smiles and rushes to show his find to the others. I take out the machete and move it around in my hands, trying to get used to its weight and how it moves. I have never used one before, but I think with some practice I can get the hang of it. I put it back into its holster and start walking back toward the others. When I approach Shane and Lori, they look like they are arguing. I don't think they have seen me and I don't want to pry, so I clear my throat as I get closer. Lori turns to face me and then leaves looking mad, and Shane starts the car he is sitting in in order to move it, not looking any happier. He moves the car, turns it off, and when he's done and sees my machete, he slowly approaches me with a menacing smile.

"You know, sweetheart, you should really know how to use a machete before you decorate yourself with one," he sneers.

I take one step closer to him, never breaking eye contact. "If you don't think I can use it then why don't you try me?" I stare at him a little longer before I step back and leave. I know lying about knowing how to use a machete might not be the smartest idea, but I really did not like his tone. _Sweetheart._ What a dick.

* * *

It is almost dark when Daryl and Rick finally return, but unfortunately they didn't find Sophia. My heart drops for Carol. How big is the chance that she will survive a night out there? I don't want to think about it and push the thought away. "We'll look again tomorrow, Carol. We'll be more people and have a bigger chance of finding her," I tell her, but she looks desperate. "She's a tough kid, Carol. We'll find her. Come on, you should get some rest." I walk her to the camper and she goes in to lie down. I walk back over to Rick.

"We found one walker, but he didn't get her," he tells me.

"How do you know?"

"We opened him up."

I cringe, that is something I do _not_ want to picture.

"How big do you think the chances are of finding her?" I say more quietly. He hesitates for a moment. "I don't know, but we won't give up."

I volunteer to take first watch while the rest lies down, and climb up to the top of the van. It is pitch black by now, so I don't see much, but if anything approaches I should be able to hear it. I spend my time moving my new weapon around in my hands, getting familiar with it. After a while I hear someone on the ladder. When I turn around I see that Glenn is joining me.

"Couldn't sleep?" I ask, smiling.

"No, and I sort of don't want to after what happened today." I understand him. That herd of walkers surprising us like it did and Sophia disappearing took a toll on all of us. I cannot even imagine how Carol must feel.

Glenn sits down next to me and we spend the next hour talking; about what is, about what was, about nonsense and the future. I tell him about my friends in Atlanta and about Bellamy. I show him the picture of us with my flashlight, and we laugh about my mid-sneeze face. He tells me he was a pizza delivery boy, about how gentle his mother used to be, and how he spent his high school prom holding his date's hair while she kept throwing up. It is one of the best conversations I have had in a long time, and when I finally cannot keep my eyes open anymore I nudge him on the shoulder before I leave.

"Thank you," I smile at him, genuinely.

"For what?"

"For this. Listening, talking, laughing. Almost felt normal."

He smiles back. "Anytime."

I make my way down and get into one of the cars and lay down on the bench in the back. As soon as I close my eyes, I am already falling asleep. It is the first dreamless night that I had since the outbreak, and when I wake up in the morning I actually feel refreshed. I am woken by Rick knocking on the car's window.

"We're going to look for Sophia."

"I'll be right there," I say and sit up. I rub the sleep out of my eyes and quickly head to the camper van for my backpack. When I've put on deodorant and brushed my teeth, I put my dark copper hair in a high bun and go to join the others.

We divide into teams of two, and I am glad I get to search with Glenn. With his easy-going personality it is unbelievably comforting to be around him, because he can actually make you forget just how fucked up the situation is that we are in. We search the woods for hours, only occasionally stopping to eat some berries we find. At one point we run into a walker and Glenn is approaching it with his knife.

"Wait. Can I?" I ask. "I want to try out this machete I found yesterday. Well, Carl found it."

He motions for me to go ahead and I carefully position the weapon in my hand. Let's see how this works in practice. I start approaching the walker and pull my arm back so I can get a good swing at it. When I am close enough I quickly move my arm forward and bury my machete deep in the walker's skull. The blade is sharper than I expected it to be. Good! The walker drops dead to the ground, but unfortunately it takes my machete with it as it falls.

"Shit. It's stuck in the bone," I say and try to remove it. "Well that could've worked better," I am laughing now. Eventually I manage to pull the weapon from the skull.

"Don't mind me, I'm going to try again to find a way to hit it without getting stuck."

So I aim again and the machete gets stuck, again. _Damn_ _this stupid machete._ I wriggle it free and think I should probably use it more like a saw. So I try to slash instead of just bluntly hit on my next try, and this time I actually get my weapon out after I damaged the skull. It was not completely smooth yet, but I should get there with some practice.

I turn around contently and see Glenn grinning at me.

"What?" I ask surprised.

"No, no. Nothing," he grins and walks pasts me to continue our search for Sophia.

* * *

We walk through the forest until it is starting to get dark, but can't find a trace of the missing girl so we decide to get back to the highway. When we get there everyone else is already back and the mood is gloomy. I walk over to Rick to ask the obvious. They did not find her either, nor any indication of where she might have run off to. We join the others in the van and each grab a can of food that we scavenged yesterday from the cars around us. It is not great, but everyone is content to have anything to eat at all. Rick takes first watch and the rest of us try to get some sleep. I walk back to the car I slept in last night, but this time sleep does not find me as easily. How long are we going to stay here? Is there actually any chance left that we will find Carol's daughter? I don't have any answers, but I am worried. What if a herd like the other day passes by again? Can we all survive that? How is it that everything looks so much more hopeless at night? I try to push the thoughts away and get some sleep, but as soon as I get rid of the worries about our situation, I automatically start thinking of Bellamy again. I wonder how he would handle the apocalypse. I am sure he would not struggle at all, he can adapt so easily. Or his sister, Octavia. She is so fierce, I bet she would be a total bad-ass, it runs in the family. I wonder if she is alive and out there somewhere, and with that I wonder about all the other people that I knew. Are they still fighting? Surviving? Going mad? Long gone?

* * *

I do not know how long I lay there wondering, but eventually sleep engulfs me, and when I open my eyes again the sun is already up. Another day searching for Sophia. I get up, eat the leftover beans from my can of food from last night, and get ready to head back into the forest. We have not gone far when we hear church bells. I look at Glenn and he looks just as stunned as I am. Without hesitating we run towards the source of the sound and soon find ourselves in front of a church. It is positioned in a small clearing in the middle of the forest, and it is the only building in sight. The others have followed the noise as well, and we carefully approach the big double doors. Rick goes in first, and inside we find a few biters that thankfully we can take care of very quickly. I use my machete on one and am happy to see that the slashing works smoother this time. We search the church, but Sophia is nowhere to be found.

The disappointment is evident in everyone, and we decide to head back; only Shane, Rick and Carl are splitting up from the group to look some more. We are half way back to the highway when we hear a single shot. Everyone looks up, Lori looks scared, I feel puzzled. Why just one? Why waste the bullet? Lori speaks my mind, but the others calm her down. Being with Rick and Shane, Carl is probably as safe as he can be.

So we turn around and continue to make our way back through the forest. We are fairly slow because we scan our surroundings not just for traces of Sophia, but also for food. We have been moving forward like this for about an hour when we hear Andrea screaming. I am alert immediately and start running into the direction of the noise. When I move through the bushes onto a small clearing, I see the blonde woman struggling with a walker. Just when I am about to run to help her, a woman on a horse appears out of nowhere and hits the walker with a baseball bat. The others have arrived by now as well and are just as frozen in place as I am.

"Lori Grimes?" the woman asks. Under a big cowboy hat she has short brown hair, and her southern accent is recognizable even though she only said two words. The bloody baseball bat is casually swinging from her right hand.

Lori steps forward. "Yes?"

"You have to come with me. Carl was shot." Time seems to slow down a little as my brain struggles to comprehend what was just said. She continues to tell us that they have a farm and how the rest of us can find us as Lori jumps on the horse, and the lady is gone just as fast as she appeared.

"What just happened?" I ask but no one answers. They seem just as confused as I am.

We quickly make our way back to the road where Dale and T-Dog are waiting for us. We tell them what happened.

"Carl? Shot?" Dale asks incredulously.

"We are just as confused as you are" I tell him, and Glenn adds: "Yeah, she swept in on her horse and was gone with Lori before we could even work through what she told us."

"Is it safe?"

"I don't know, I mean she knew Lori's name and where we have our cars, so I assume what she said is right."

"We should go. T-Dog really needs some medicine for his cut," Dale says. T-Dog had cut himself badly when he was hiding from the herd of walkers a couple of days ago, and the wound was starting to get infected.

"What about Sophia?" Carol interrupts.

"Okay, how about this?" I start. "You guys go ahead and drive to the farm. I'll stay here with Carol; we'll stay the night and see if Sophia comes back. We'll join you tomorrow. If Sophia doesn't come back, we'll put up a note and leave some food for her before we leave, and we'll check back here every day. Okay, Carol?"

I look at her and she nods, even though she looks unsure. As it turns out Daryl has some medicine for T-Dog, so everyone decides to stay for the night and leave for the farm together tomorrow. I take first watch again and while everyone else settles in to get some rest, I climb up onto the roof of the RV. My hair feels greasy and I put it up in a bun so it does not bother me anymore. I am thinking about Carl. Is he alive? Who shot him?

Movement on the back of the RV distracts me from my thoughts and Glenn joins me again.

"Well….that was quite a day," he says

"Yeah…. _what was that_?!" I say and almost have to laugh out of sheer confusion. "It's so absurd. Carl being shot. That lady on a horse kidnapping Lori. You think she was telling the truth?"

"I don't know why she wouldn't," he says and we are both quiet for a moment.

"Do you think Sophia's alive?" He asks quietly after a few minutes. I look over and lock eyes with him for a while before answering. "Honestly?" I shake my head and direct my eyes back towards the road ahead. "No. She's been out there for three days now. She is so young, she was so scared. I don't think she made it. I shouldn't say it, but..." I drop my head and exhale audible. "..you asked," I finish.

We spent the rest of the watch in silence, both mentally working through the events of the day and wondering what will await us at that farm tomorrow. After a couple of hours Glenn leaves to lie down, and I wait until Daryl gets up to take over.

I go down into the RV and see that Carol is still up. She is lying down on the bed. It is dark but there is a little moonlight shining in through the windows, and I can see that her eyes are open. All the beds are taken, T-Dog is even lying down on the floor, so I carefully walk over to where Carol is lying and lie down next to her. This would usually be very awkward for me, just climbing into bed with someone I barely know, but it is the only free space, and even though I know I cannot do anything for her, I just want her to know that I am here. So I look over at the woman with the short gray hair, take her hand in mine, and squeeze it. Then I turn over and go to sleep, wondering what will happen tomorrow, wondering if Carl is alive.


	6. The Farm

In the morning there is still no trace of Sophia, so we pack up, leave a note and some food and water for her on the hood of a car, and start heading to the farm via the route the horse lady described. It turns out that she did indeed tell the truth, about where to find the farm at least, because after a 15 minute drive we pull up to the gate she told us about yesterday. Since the gate is closed, we park next to a tree line and start moving toward the house, curious but careful. The big farmhouse and its adjoining barns and are the only buildings in sight, and they are surrounded by wide plains of field which end in forest to each side.

As we get closer, the door opens and Lori appears on the porch.

"Lori," I say loudly and break into a jog. "Carl?"

"I don't know...we don't know," she starts when I reach her. "He was shot, Hershel needs to remove the bullet, but he doesn't have the utensils to do it. Shane left with one of them to get some," she continues and looks shaken.

"I'm so sorry," I say and give her a hug. Behind me, the others also speak their wishes for Carl. They continue to talk about what happened, but I enter the house to find Rick. Instead, I find the horse lady.

"So you guys made it, huh?" She says in her distinct accent.

"Yeah, we decided to stay the night. We are still missing one person from our group."

She shoots me a curious look, but does not respond to my statement.

"I'm Maggie, by the way," she says instead.

"Zoey," I answer. "Hey, have you seen Rick?"

"He's in the guest bedroom with Carl."

I walk in the direction Maggie points me in and find the guest bedroom fairly quick. The door stands open a bit and I can see Rick sitting on a chair, looking concerned. I push the door open carefully and a bed comes into view. There is Carl – pale and unconscious. My eyes dart back to Rick and he looks at me desperately. I quickly walk over to him and he gets up to accept my hug. I put my arms around him and pull him in tightly.

"I'm so, so sorry."

He does not respond but hugs me a little tighter. When we let go I turn around and look at Carl. "He's going to be okay, Rick. Shane will get the necessary things, and Carl will be okay. He's a tough kid."

I glance back at Rick. He does not respond, only nods, seemingly convincing himself that what I say is true. I can see how upset he is, so I am giving him space and go back outside to the others.

Right now there is nothing to do but wait. T-Dogg is getting stitched up, Andrea and Daryl are exploring or searching the woods, Dale is in the RV with Carol, and Glenn is sitting down on the porch, talking to Maggie. I decide to walk around the grounds a little bit, see what is around. The farm is huge, there are endless fields, all fenced in, a barn and a lot of free space where we can potentially camp out until things settle down. The best thing is that, even with this much space, there is not a single walker in sight. This place seems untouched. I sit down against a tree and contemplate how the world ended here. Did they lose many people? It seems surreal to think that they lived through a similar catastrophe as we did - it is too calm here. In a good way. Maybe, if Carl lives, we can…stay? It's irrational to think about it, but I feel like we could call this place home. Here, the world does not seem as hopeless.

I pull my picture of Bellamy out of my pocket and smile. Once again I am wondering how he died. Was it a walker or a person? A friend turned into a walker? His loss is weighing heavily on my chest, and I am forcing myself to put the picture away and get up to walk back to the others. When I get closer to the porch Maggie is just getting up to head back inside, and Glenn is following her with his eyes. He has a peculiar look on his face.

"Oh my god!" I say, laughing while I walk up the steps to the porch. "You're totally smitten with her!"

"I am not!" he denies, but his eyes give him away.

"Well, if you're not gonna hit on her, I will," I laugh and he smiles.

"She's pretty cool." He looks back to the door through which Maggie just disappeared. "So, this place is…quite something."

"It seems totally untouched, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, it seems like the right place to get our energy back. Everything after that one good night at the CDC was just way too stressful. We all need a minute to calm down, I feel."

I am relieved to hear that Glenn agrees with my impulsive opinion of this place. "You wanna go set up camp for tonight?" I ask and he nods. So we head to the RV and get out the tents we had stored in the back. We decide to each set up six tents, but unfortunately the first one I get is a total disaster.

"Jesus – whoever invented this tent must hate people. The instructions are a total disaster!" I exclaim exasperated when I see that Glenn is already on tent two, both looking perfectly inhabitable. When he turns around and sees my sorry excuse of an attempt he busts out laughing.

"Jesus, have you ever even built up a tent in your life?" he says while laughing.

"Hey!" I shout while throwing one of my tent pegs at him. "I'll have you know I am great at setting up tents if the instructions are clear." I am trying to think of more excuses but come up short. "Alright," I put up my hands in surrender. "I admit it. I need help."

"I'll help you in a minute," he grins and after he finishes setting up his tent we set up the rest of the tents together.

* * *

When we get back to the house in the evening we find out that Shane came back with all the necessary utensils for Hershel, who turns out to be Maggie's father and the owner of the farm, so he can operate on Carl. Shane looks pretty shaken up, and apparently the man he went with did not make it. I am surprised to see Shane like this; he is usually the toughest when it comes to tight situations with walkers. For a minute I wonder if there is more to the story, but quickly push the thought away to concentrate on positive thoughts for Carl.

None of us are going to sleep early that night; so we all wait around in the house to hear if Carl is going to be okay. The atmosphere is tense and no one seems able to have a normal-volume conversation. Over the hushed voices around me I decided to settle down in a corner and continue reading the book that I found in the RV. Unfortunately, I cannot really concentrate on what I am reading, my mind is too occupied with other things. My thoughts wander from Carl, to Shane's curious behavior, to Sophia – is Sophia still alive?

I am snapped out of my thoughts when Maggie enters the room.

"Dad managed to get the bullet out. Carl should be okay."

The shift in the rooms' atmosphere is palpable – everyone smiles and I can hear exclaims of "Thank God!" all around. I myself am wearing a huge smile on my face. This is the first good news in days.

After that we decide that it is time to head to bed. We make our way back to the campsite and everyone is grateful Glenn and I have already set up, so everyone goes ahead and claims sleeping spaces either in the tents or in the RV. I already set up all my things in one of the tents in the afternoon. Obviously I picked my disaster tent. Having made myself comfortable in the sleeping bag, I think that thankfully we will at least get to stay here a few more days until Carl has regained his energy. That thought calms me down and I drift into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

The days turn into weeks. We have been on the farm longer than we expected. It is evident that Hershel is not too happy about it, but the others seem fine with our presence. Carl is back on his feet and we try to help out on the farm as much as we can. I spend my days mostly helping Maggie out - she has become someone I consider a friend, and it is obvious things are heating up between her and Glenn, even though he does not tell me too much about it. I also help out with looking for Sophia as much as I can. We have maps now, which help us being more organized since we can divide the search up in rosters, but with every passing day the hope of finding her becomes smaller and smaller. Whenever we can make time I also get together with Rick, because he teaches me how to properly use my machete. I do not know how he knows how to use one this well as a police officer, but I decided not to question it and just go with it. I'm happy to learn.

Apart from this, Shane and Rick have started giving shooting lessons to everyone who is willing to learn, and it turns out Andrea is a natural. I also suspect that she and Shane started hooking up, not that I really care about that. I just have not managed to get my distrust of him out of my head.

Tonight, as every night, we sit together at the campfire. This has become sort of a ritual – every night before heading to bed everyone that wants to comes to sit around the campfire. We share stories, memories, important things and unimportant chitchat, and it feels like we are growing into a family. It helped me get to know and understand everyone better, and I also allowed myself to open up and share my story of how I ended up here. As far as it comes to post-apocalyptic company, I think I hit the jackpot.

Tonight is a special night, because Glenn and Maggie brought back a crate of wine from their run into town. This alone seemed to be a cause of celebration, because our campfire group is bigger than usual. Rick and Lori went back to their tent early, they seemed to be in some sort of fight, but apart from them everyone from our camp is here. Maggie came down from the house, and even the usually anti-social Daryl joined us. Since no one is used to alcohol anymore, most of us are already buzzed after the first glass and there are lively conversations all around.

"You did NOT just say that!" I laugh at the absurdity that just came out of Glenn's mouth. Sitting between us, Maggie is almost crying from laughter.

"No I swear to you! This is exactly what happened. I just tried to give him the pizza he ordered, minding my own business, and he was butt naked, high as a kite, trying to get me to dance the cha-cha with him!"

"Well I definitely picked the wrong job," Maggie says while wiping tears out of her eyes. Her cheeks are flushed from the wine.

"Oh don't say that yet. I bet if you give Glenn a few more glasses he'll be butt naked, trying to dance the cha-cha with _you_." I can't help but picture the situation, which makes me laugh even more. I touch my cheeks and am happy that I do not have a mirror, because I am pretty sure they are bright red as well.

"Did you do it? Did you dance with him?" Maggie asks.

Glenn hesitates a second too long. "..no.."

"Oh my god, you totally did!" I almost shout and another rush of laughter erupts between Maggie and me.

"It was the only way he'd give me my money!" Glenn defends himself, but he is laughing too.

We beg him to show us, but he refuses.

"Okay, I am laughing so hard I'm going to have to go pee now or otherwise there is going to be an accident in a minute," I laugh and make to get up.

"I'll join you," Maggie says, and I realized that we have reached the level of tipsiness where girls go pee together.

She wants to go all the way to the house, but I convince her that we can rather just go a bit into the forest. Since alcohol makes you lazy she agrees that that is indeed the much smarter option.

"Okay Maggie, honest now. You and Glenn are a thing, aren't you?" I ask while fumbling to open my zipper.

"I did sleep with him a few times."

"I knew it!" I exclaim victoriously.

She laughs. "Come on, it's not that hard to spot if you actually pay attention."

"It's true, the way he looks at you. That's unmistakable," I say while looking at Maggie. Instead of answering she just looks into the other direction and smiles shyly.

"He likes you a lot more than he cares to admit," I add.

She looks at me for a moment and then changes the subject. "So how about you, anyone you fancy here at camp?"

"No." I laugh as I close my zipper again and walk over to a nearby tree. "Although, a few more glasses and I might change my opinion. _God_ , I haven't had sex in way too long," I add, giggling. The alcohol really has gotten to my head.

"Well, there's a lot of guys here…"

"No," I say, smiling at her attempt to set me up. "I'm not ready.."

"Glenn told me about your husband. I'm sorry about that," She says, sounding much more sober now.

"No need to be sorry. I mean, I appreciate it, but I guess that's just the way the world is now," I answer, remembering that she also lost her step-mother.

"Tell me about him," Maggie says, sitting down against a tree trunk next to me and motioning for me to sit next to her. I look at her without moving.

"I mean, only if you want to," she adds quickly. "At least for me I know how much it helps me to talk about my mum to someone that didn't know her. I can't talk to my family too much, because I can see my pain mirrored in their eyes, so it's hard to think about her too much around them. But with someone that didn't know her…that makes me happy."

I feel a sudden rush of affection for the farmer's daughter, how kind and thoughtful she is under the tough exterior that she puts up, so I sit down next to her.

"Bellamy was…so many things. He was tough and badass and independent. He could seem like a selfish asshole if you didn't know him. But if you _did_ know him, you knew that he was just incredibly protective. Mostly because of his childhood. He lost his father very early and his mother died when he had just turned 16, so he felt incredibly responsible for his little sister his whole life. If you managed to break through that wall he put up, you'd learn that he was in fact one of the most selfless people you'd ever meet. I met him when I was nineteen, married him at twenty-one."

"You _married_ at twenty-one?!" Maggie exclaims, laughing. I chuckle at her remark.

"Yeah, I know. I hindsight I can't quite believe that either. Then again, it was pretty spontaneous - we didn't plan it or anything. We were in Vegas for a birthday, and after a few drinks - well, after a lot of drinks actually - we decided that we should totally get married. Seemed like the best idea anyone had ever had to us. So we just did," I say and shrug, Maggie laughs, and I smile at the memory of that night.

"Did you guys regret it the next day?" She asks.

"You'd think, wouldn't you?" I chuckle. "We woke up, and I looked over at him - _Jesus_ , I was so hungover - and I asked him 'did we get married last night?' and he just laughed and said 'I guess we did', kissed me on the forehead and went back to sleep. And that was that - we just went with it."

For a moment I am taken back to that weekend in Vegas. I can clearly picture his face as he is standing next to me in that cheap little chapel, I can almost feel his warm body next to mine as we wake up in bed the next day, remembering what we had done the night before. His beautiful face so close to mine that I can count his freckles, his dark flock of hair messy from sleep, his smile so genuine that it reaches his eyes and gives him little wrinkles. The one smile that was just reserved for me, so warm and full of love, the one where I knew his guard is completely down.

"I saw you are wearing two rings around your necklace. Is the other one his?" Maggie pulls me from my thoughts.

"Yeah," I say, pulling out the necklace from under my shirt. "These are both of our wedding bands. I found his when I went back to our apartment after the infection broke out. It was lying next to a big puddle of blood."

"I'm so sorry."

We are quite for a moment. When I realize how emotional I am getting I slowly start to get up before I start to cry. I put my hand on Maggie's shoulder. "Thank you. For listening. Means a lot," I say. "If you ever want to talk about your Mum, I'm here."

"Thanks, but not right now. I'm too tipsy," she says lightly and moves to get up as well. I am starting to head back to camp when Maggie asks me if I could send Glenn over to her. I agree with a smirk and walk back to the campfire alone. When Glenn sees me reappearing out of the forest, he gets up.

"Jeeez, I thought you guys were eaten by a bear," he laughs and I wonder how much more wine he had.

"Maggie is asking for you. She's over there in the forest." I point at where I just came from. "So you better be stealthy," I smirk at him.

"She told you," he says almost shyly.

"Sure did," I smile. "Now you better hurry to your lady, Casanova." He gives me a smile and heads off into the forest.

I look at him disappearing into the woods and decide I should head to bed. When I lie down I think to myself that I should've brushed my teeth, but I fall asleep before I can finish my thought.

* * *

When I wake up I am instantly grateful that I only had two glasses of wine, because the anticipated hangover is missing. I open up my tent and am blinded by the sun. Must be fairly late I assume from how high the sun is standing in the sky, probably around midday. I can see Rick sitting on one of the logs lying around the fireplace.

"I was waiting for you to get up. I got some time for practice," he says.

"Be right there," I answer groggily while shielding my eyes from the sun. I quickly put on some fresh clothes and head to the fountain afterwards to pour some fresh water on my face. As I am walking back to Rick I am putting my hair into a ponytail.

"Okay, I'm ready to go."

He gets up wordlessly and heads toward our usual practice spot in the woods. As we are walking I notice that he is looking grumpier than usual.

"What's up, Mr. Miserable?" I ask lightly, but he just shoots me a look and continues walking wordlessly. _Alright then._

We get to the clearing and he starts instructing me. We practice for about 20 minutes without much talk. I am just practicing my slashes at a tree when he finally gets out more than three words at a time.

"So, are you finally gonna tell me how you learned to shoot?" he sounds annoyed. "At the CDC you said it's a long story. We got time now."

I look at him over my shoulder. He looks mad, but not at me. I decide that arguing or being hostile at him would not get me anywhere, so I decide that I trust him enough to tell him. Maybe that will distract him from his actual problem. I continue my practice at the tree silently for a moment before I start talking.

"Anger issues," I say as I hit the machete at the tree once again. "I grew up with an alcoholic mum and an abusive step dad. I never knew my real dad; I think my mum didn't even know which one he was. Robert, my step dad, started dating my mum when I was 8, and he was a real prick. Once broke four of my ribs when I came home late. I was thirteen at the time. My mum didn't care because she was a drunk and too insecure and self-loathing to utter an opinion that would oppose Roberts. I ran away when I was fifteen, basically living on the street and at friends' places for a year. During that time I would usually steal at this small grocery store. The owner kept catching me, but he usually let me go without calling the cops. I have no idea why I kept going back there. Mr. Cooper – he was in his fifties. He always scolded me, but he never seemed mad. One day when he caught me again, he asked me if I had a place to sleep that night. Something about this guy made me tell him the truth, and he took me home with him. His wife was really sweet to me. They gave me dinner, offered me their guest bedroom – I mean I _stole_ from them, over and over and over, yet here I was in their house, and they weren't angry, weren't calling the cops, weren't telling me that I was a worthless piece of shit. They _cared._ Which was weird, because I didn't know what that felt like before. I ended up staying with Annie and Greg Cooper for three years, until I turned 18. They encouraged me to finish up school, while their only condition for me staying with them was for me to work at Greg's supermarket."

I pause for a moment to wipe the sweat off my forehead. "Yet I kept carrying this anger in me, the insecurity that I guess just comes from a childhood like mine. Annie was a psychologist. According to her this anger, and the way I acted, came from never feeling save, so she suggested I take some kickboxing lessons. I did – and it helped. But it wasn't enough. So additionally I also went to the gun range with Greg. I learned how to shoot and I learned how to fight. And eventually, my anger died away."

I am pausing before the next bit to avoid tearing up. "Greg and Annie died in a car crash five years ago. I will never not carry that pain around with me. When the world ended not too long ago I was working in two bars to put me through college. I was studying psychology – just like Annie did. I wanted to help someone like they helped me."

After I finish my story I continue slashing at the tree, but when Rick does not say anything for a while and I have composed myself enough, I lower my machete and turn around. His expression completely changed. The anger is gone from his eyes and was replaced by...pity?

"Stop," I say and turn back toward the tree, continuing my exercise. "Stop looking at me like that. I'm not a sad story. Yes, what happened was shit, but otherwise I wouldn't be who I am today. Greg and Annie saved my life – quite literally – and this whole thing ended on a positive note. That's what's important. The rest was just necessary to get me here."

I finish and put town my machete. I wipe my face in my shirt, and only when I am finally certain that I will not start crying I allow myself to turn around to face Rick. He does not say anything, but walks over to me, takes my face in both of his hands and kisses me on the forehead.

"Thank you," is the only thing he says before turning around. He walks toward the tree line and stops just before he reaches it. He is quiet for a moment.

"Lori's pregnant," he finally says while still having turned his back to me.

I inhale sharply. So this is why he was so agitated.

"She doesn't want to keep it," he continues.

"And what do you want?" I ask hesitantly.

"I don't know," he turns around. "I mean, I respect what she wants, obviously. But if she gets pregnant under these circumstances….that has got to mean something! That could be the good news that we need. I know that keeping this baby is the bad decision, theoretically speaking. Bringing a baby into this world is just cruel. But…but somehow _I want this._ I want this baby," he finally concludes.

"Okay," I nod. "How is she doing?"

"She's scared."

"How are you doing?"

He pauses before he answers. Then he looks at me. "I'm scared."

I walk over to where he is standing and put my arms around him. He responds to my hug, and we stand there for a long time, putting all the things we cannot say out loud into the embrace.

* * *

When we finally decide to head back to camp I am emotionally done for the day. I just want to go help Maggie collect fresh eggs, hear about her night, and then head back into my tent and go back to sleep. But as it usually happens in real life, things do not go like I want them to go.

"Come on, Glenn. What's going on?!" I hear Shane say right when we get to camp.

"What's going on?" I ask.

"I don't know. Glenn wanted to tell us something but can't get it out," Shane replies. I look at Glenn. He looks torn and hesitant.

Eventually, he speaks.

"The barn is full of walkers."


	7. The Barn

" _Okay, we've either got to go in there, we've got to make things right, or we've just got to go. Now! We've been talking about Fort Benning for a long time."_

" _We can't go, Shane!"_

" _Why, Rick, why?"_

" _Because my daughter is still out there!" Carol interrupts._

" _I think it's time to consider the other possibility."_

" _We are not leaving Sophia behind!"_

" _I'm close to finding this girl. I just found her damn doll two days ago."_

" _You found her doll, Daryl! That's what you did. You found a doll."_

" _You don't know what the hell you're talking about!"_

" _I'm just saying what needs to be said. You get a good lead, it's in the first 48 hours! Let me tell you something else, man. If she was alive out there and saw you coming all methed out with your buck knife and geek ears around your neck, she would run in the other direction."_

* * *

The fight from earlier today keeps replaying in my mind. There are walkers in the barn – Glenn said it and Shane went to check. It's true, the barn is crawling with walkers. Shane wants to leave immediately, but Rick wants to stay; says he can talk to Hershel. I know why he wants to stay. Lori is pregnant – they need this. But I cannot help but agree with the other side too. This is dangerous.

The discussion in the morning did not lead to anything. Everyone is shaken up by the news and no one really knows what to do about it. Throughout the day I can see Rick trying to talk to Hershel, Glenn trying to talk to Maggie – apologizing? – but who I keep my eye on is Shane. He is impulsive and I can image him doing something stupid before long. I feel paralyzed. I feel this situation is not going to end well, yet I don't know what to do – I don't know how to stop it.

I have barely finished that thought when I see Shane heading back toward the barn and react on impulse.

"Shane!" I shout and run after him. He ignores me and continues walking.

"Shane, stop it!" I say again and run past him to put myself in between him and the barn. "Can we have a grown-up conversation before you do something stupid?"

" _What_?!" he asks heatedly. "These people keep a barn full of geeks and _I_ am the one being stupid?"

"I never said the barn was a great idea, I am just saying this isn't your decision to make. This isn't our land."

"Get out of my way!" He takes a few steps forward and I retreat to keep the space between us.

"Shane, come on. If you fuck up now we all have to leave. We have to find a solution that doesn't involve you stalking off and ruining this for us."

He does not respond immediately but I can see that I hit a nerve – he looks pissed. He keeps stalking towards me slowly, and I keep retreating until I hit the barn door with my back and cannot move away from him any further. Shane continues until he is standing right in front of me, his forehead so close that it almost hits mine. I can feel his hot breath on my face and see the anger in his dark eyes.

"You don't tell me what to do," he says quietly but threateningly, like a predator warning his prey. "I kept us safe this whole time, and I will not risk anything because these people decide to keep walkers as pets. I don't give a shit if I am pissing people off in the process. _This isn't a democracy anymore._ I will do what I have to do to keep us safe!"

He stares me dead in the eyes for a while before turning on his heels and walking back towards the house. Finally, I release the breath that I have been holding since he invaded my personal space. I cannot help but think that I have just made it worse _._

* * *

I am pretty upset about my conversation with Shane, so when I see Rick walking into the woods with Hershel, I decide to take that opportunity to talk to Maggie, trying to persuade the other side. I jog over to the house and walk in carefully. "Maggie?"

"What?!" – I can hear her say from the the kitchen.

I walk over to where she is. She is wearing blue jeans and a black t-shirt, and her face is stern, her eyes narrow. She looks pissed as well. "Hey, I know you're mad," I start, carefully.

"You don't know anything!"

"Maggie, stop! This isn't my fault. There are walkers in the barn, Glenn found out and he told us. I don't know what exactly went on between you two before that, but it doesn't matter. _They're dangerous!_ I don't know if you realize just _how_ dangerous they are! Glenn didn't tell us because he doesn't respect you – he told us because he is worried. He is worried about you, he is worried about all of us, because he knows what they can do. It doesn't matter if they are still human or not, and right now it also doesn't matter if you're mad at us or at Glenn – because if we want to stop this from getting any worse we have got to try to calm Shane down. He is livid and I don't know what he'll do, but I do know that it won't be good – for any of us. We have got to stop him before he does something stupid."

"It isn't my responsibility to take care of _your_ people. If Shane does something stupid, Dad will kick you all out of here," she simply says, her tone of voice cold and indifferent, and walks past me. I can hear her leaving the house and I am left alone in the kitchen, dumbfounded. This wasn't the Maggie I started to get to know over these past few weeks. I wonder if her mother is in that barn, and if that is the reason she is so mad. When I hear a commotion on the porch, I quickly head out after my friend.

"What's all this?" is the first thing I hear.  
"You with me man?" Shane asks, throwing a gun to Daryl as he nods. "Time to grow up."

Our one condition of being allowed to stay on the farm was to not use guns, except for the shooting lessons, yet here Shane is, handing them out like candy on Halloween.

"What are you doing, Shane?" I ask, even though it is evident. Shane ignores me and continues to hand out guns.

"Can you stop? You do this, you hand out these guns, my dad will make you leave tonight," Maggie interferes tensely.

Lori adds: "We have to stay, Shane!"

He seems out of control. I am trying to figure out how to stop him, how to stop the impending doom, but I come up short. He seems so mad he almost frightens me. That's when I see four figures moving out of the forest. The others noticed it too.

"What is this?!" Shane shouts, livid. When they get nearer I can see it is Rick and Hershel, heading toward the barn, both of them leading walkers on snare poles in front of them. I curse under my breath.

Shane drops the extra guns he was carrying and starts running toward them like a maniac. I quickly pick up one of the shotguns he dropped and join the rest in sprinting after him.

"You see what they're holding onto?!" Shane shouts at us while running.

"I can see _who_ I'm holding onto," Hershel responds simply.

"No man, you don't!"

"Shane, just let us do this and then we can talk," Rick pleads with him, but Shane won't have any of it.

"What do you want to talk about, Rick? These things ain't sick. They're not people. They're dead! Hershel – man, let me ask you something. Could a living, breathing person…could they walk away from this?"

And that is when Shane shoots the walker Hershel is holding in the chest. Three times. I start feeling nauseous.

"That's three rounds in the chest," Shane continues. "Could someone who is alive…could they just take that? Why is it still coming?

He continues to shoot it. The walker is still moving, trying to get at him.

"That's heart and lungs. Why is it still coming?"

He shoots it again.

"Shane, enough!" Rick screams.

"Yeah that's right, it's enough!" Shane says, and then lifts his gun up one more time and shoots the walker in the head – causing it to drop down to the ground. Time seems to slow down. I can hear Maggie screaming and I see the petrified look on Hershel's face.

But still, Shane goes on. "Enough risking our lives for a little girl who's gone! Enough living next to a barn full of things that are trying to kill us! Enough! Rick, it ain't like it was before! Now, if y'all want to live, if you want to survive, you got to fight for it! I'm talking about fighting right here, right now!"

Shane now starts walking towards the barn in a fast pace and I immediately know what he is about to do. Rick apparently knows it too, because he is shouting at Shane to stop, while begging Hershel to take the snare-pole he is holding from him so he can go after Shane. But Hershel is too petrified to move. So all of us just stand there frozen in shock, watching Shane take an axe and breaking the lock to the barn door. Time seems to take up its normal speed when the walkers start pouring out of the opened doors. Shane starts shooting; and Andrea, T-Dogg and Daryl line up next to him, talking on the mass of biters coming out of the barn. There are dozens and dozens, a herd of undead, snarling, wanting fresh meat.

I know that I have to act too, there are too many of them. "Sorry, Maggie!" I tell her as I run past her while she is clinging onto her dad, crying. I get in line with the others and start shooting the walkers. Eventually even Glenn joins us. The massacre seems to be going on and on, until it eventually dies out. We lower our guns and I look over to my left, where Shane, T-Dogg and Daryl are standing. They are breathing heavily, but they keep their eyes locked on the barn doors, not convinced that it is over.

It turns out they are right. All of a sudden, we can hear one more walker approaching the barn door, shuffling and snarling. We all get ready, but when it steps out into the daylight, all of us are frozen in shock.

Exiting the barn is poor, sweet little Sophia, with a gaping wound on her neck. Her skin has turned grey and her eyes are milky, and she looks at us with no recognition, only hunger. _So she is dead,_ I think to myself.

"Sophia? Sophia!" I can hear Carol sobbing immediately. She is trying to run towards her daughter, but Daryl stops her at the last minute. They both drop to the ground, Daryl is holding Carol while she sobs. It is almost too painful to watch. Meanwhile Sophia is still approaching us, grunting and moaning, hungry for flesh. I know I should do something but I can't move.

Rick steps up. He slowly walks towards the barn and it seems like he is the only person moving in the world. He looks like he is in pain, his eyes are sad and his mouth is in a straight line. When he is close to the little girl, he raises his gun while Sophia looks up at him expectantly. I swallow hard as he shoots her between the eyes. Sophia's dead body drops to the ground and the only sound we can hear is Carol crying.

* * *

The situation at the barn dissolved itself when everyone went their way to deal with what just happened. Most of them ran after Hershel and his family, trying to talk to him, about what this means for us staying, I assume. I, however, feel uncomfortable tagging along, feeling like I just intruded on an intimate moment. I have been with them for a long time, yet somehow in times of crisis I still feel like I do not belong – which may just be my way of avoiding to face it. So instead of following everyone, talking about what happened or consoling people that have lost loved ones, I do the only thing I can think of: start digging. Because if I know one thing, then it is that everyone will want to give a proper funeral to those they loved. I grab a shovel, put my hair up in a bun, and start digging up graves along the tree line. The sun is high up and sweat is running down my face almost immediately, but I do not let myself be bothered by it, and instead continue to dig up earth and throw it on a pile. I do not know how long I've been at it when Rick comes over.

"Glenn told me you were here."

"I assumed most of us wanted a real funeral for Sophia, for Maggie's step-mother…I thought I just go ahead and start digging."

"How long have you been at it? You look worn out."

"I don't know, Rick. Honestly, I just wanna get this done. Feels like the only helpful thing for me to do at the moment," I pause for a moment and realize that tears started welling up in my eyes. " _Shit._ I'm sorry. The last weeks, well months if I'm honest, have been a little much."

I wipe my face on my shirt and am immediately ashamed of crying about this. I have always hated how emotional I could get sometimes. The last thing I want to do is drag the spotlight on me unintentionally just because I cannot manage to hold back some tears. When I do not get an answer from Rick I allow myself to look over to where he is standing. He just gives me a nod. But when I look closely I notice he looks exhausted. His eyes are sad and more wrinkled than usual – like he is carrying the weight of the world.

"You look like you've gotten a lot of heat from everyone," I start carefully.

"Well, apparently no one is happy with how I handled the situation. Or basically everything that happened, for that matter."

I scan him for a moment before answering, my heart going out to him.

"Rick, what is happening right now, how people are acting towards you…that's not because you failed us. I don't know if you realize this, but these people… _we_ …we look to you as our leader. Yes, that means you will get shit from time to time, like today, but that just means you are doing your job. You are accepting the burden even if you don't want to. In situations like this, people are scared; they are looking for someone to make their decisions for them. Yes, everyone is upset about what happened, but you still have their respect. They still look to you for answers. They're just scared. We all are. You just need to keep leading. It's part of the deal."

The expression on his face changes. He doesn't look sad anymore, now he looks torn. He is torn about being a leader – he likes and dislikes it at the same time. He gives me a nod and turns around to leave. I focus my attention back on digging the graves when I hear him call out my name.

"Zoey," I turn around and see that he has stopped in his tracks and faces me.

"In case you didn't realize it yet," he starts. " _You're family."_ Then he turns around and leaves. I continue my task at hand, feeling grateful. Grateful for Rick understanding me. Grateful that I went against my better judgement on that day in Atlanta, when I reached out to them and helped them get out of town.

* * *

I finish about three graves when I am completely exhausted and decide to head back to the house. The sun is still high in the sky, so I couldn't have been at it for more than three hours. _Damn, Blake. You really need to work on your cardio,_ I think to myself as I swing the shovel over my shoulder and start walking. When I get close I can see Maggie coming out of the house, looking worried.

"Maggie, what's going on?"

"It's Beth. She broke down, but we can't find Dad, so Glenn and Rick are going into town to look for him," she tells me while brushing past me, clearly looking for someone. It does not take much to realize she is trying to find Glenn.

"I'll go with them," I state simply and she turns around to look at me, surprised.

"Power in numbers, you know," I try to sound nonchalant. "Don't worry, he'll get back to you. Just see it as an apology for me going off at you before. You were clearly upset and I had no right to get into your business, let alone make you feel bad for how you reacted."

"Zoey," she starts, but I cut her off by hugging her.

"Beth will be okay, your Dad will be okay, and Glenn will be okay, understand?" I smile at her and head towards the cars before she can answer, afraid she would disagree.

When I approach the cars I can see Glenn and Rick already getting in the small Ford, making ready to drive into town.

"I'll join you," I shout and can immediately see both of them disapproving. There are more people watching the scene, so I quickly step closer and try to explain more silently before they can disagree out loud.

"Please, I told Maggie I'll join to make sure you are coming back, but to be honest…I just need to get out for a moment. The atmosphere here is crushing me. _Please."_ I look at both of them pleadingly, knowing I should not be going, taken into account how exhausted I am, but all the well knowing I am right with power in numbers. Plus, I am a good shot. I mean, how bad can it get?

Rick and Glenn look at each other, and after a while Rick turns to me and rolls his eyes. "Alright." I can see that he is not completely happy with his decision, so before he can change his mind I quickly jog back to camp to gather my gun and my machete. I am still wearing my dark grey jeans and a black t-shirt, and I leave my jacket behind because I am still so warm from all the exercise. I am just about to hurry back to the car when I stop in my tracks, turn around to grab my knife, hide it in my boot, and then make my way back towards my friends.

* * *

Just as Rick expected, we find Hershel in the bar in town. Glenn and I look at each other, and apparently wordlessly decide to let Rick take the lead, for we both step back towards the window watching the street, while Rick tries to convince Hershel to come back to the farm. Since it is just the four of us in the bar, it is extremely hard not to listen in on them, and my heart breaks for Hershel when I can hear him saying that he failed his daughters, that he is a fool, and that his family would do well without him.

I am so immersed in his story that I completely lose track of checking the street, as apparently Glenn did too, because all of us are taken aback when the door opens and two men enter the bar.

"Son of a bitch! They are alive," one of them exclaims as they both make their way into the big room. The speaker is averaged sized and skinny, the other one bigger in both height and width, wearing a baseball cap. Even though they introduce themselves and the skinny one does a lot of talking, the atmosphere is tense. I can see Rick reach to his holster when the talkative man reaches into his pocket. Apparently he noticed it too, because he slowly takes a gun out of his pocket and puts it on the table. "Not bad, huh? I got it off a cop," he says, smirking, gesturing towards his gun.

"I'm a cop," Rick simply replies.

The new arrivals play it cool. They take out some alcohol and we all toast to lost companions and the end of the world. We only had two shots of tequila, but I already feel it getting to my head. _This is not good._ I am grateful Rick is here to do all the talking. I can hear them talk about where they came from, what stories they heard, while I concentrate on not letting the alcohol cloud my judgement. I snap out of my concentration when I can hear the new arrivals asking to join us on our farm. The mood in the room changes perceptibly and I shoot Rick a look. He eyes the skinny guy hard, and eventually tells him that that is not going to happen. The only problem is that the two men are not letting go that easily. The big guy gets angry, peeing in a corner while swearing to himself; while the skinny guy tries to charm Rick into letting them into our camp.

I slowly place my hand on my gun as the discussion continues. The skinny man walks behind the bar, and I can see Rick tensing as well, both of us thinking he's going for his gun, when the man puts more alcohol on the counter. Just as I think the situation is clear, in a quick movement the skinny man pulls a shotgun out from under the bar and points it at Rick; but Rick is faster and shoots him in the chest before the skinny man can pull his trigger. Rick then turns around to the bigger man, who is aiming his shotgun at Rick, but before Rick can pull the trigger the big man drops dead from a gunshot to his right temple. Rick looks around the room and his eyes stop when they see me, holding my gun up in both hands, aiming at the man who just fell dead to the ground.

"We have to get out of here," I say, lowering my gun. I am feeling nauseous – not just because I had two tequila shots on an empty stomach, but because I just killed a living man. I have made my peace with killing walkers, but killing someone who is alive, who is breathing, is something entirely different.

Rick agrees and moves toward the door when we hear a car approaching. "Get down!" he shouts at us.

I move to sit down against the wall beneath the window, and we can hear the car stopping and people emerging.

"Dave? Tony? They said over here?"

"I'm telling you, man, I heard shots," we can hear the men saying. They must have been friends with the two men we just killed, and we can hear them spread out to look for them. We all sit tentatively for a while, but it seems like they are far enough from the bar, and when we cannot hear them anymore I am starting to get impatient.

"Hey," I whisper over to my friends. "We should leave through the back door while they are still split up."

Rick nods and we are just moving to get up when we can hear the voices coming back. "We're looking for Dave and Tony and no one checks the damn bar?" One of them says and I can clearly hear footsteps approaching the door. In the same instant, the man from outside tries to open the door and Glenn reacts quickly and moves in front of it, so it immediately shuts again. I look from Glenn over to Hershel, and I can see the anxiety written on both of their faces. The man from outside keeps shouting if someone is in here, and after a long silence from our side, Rick finally answers him, saying that his friends are dead and that we did not have a choice. Glenn cringes when Rick answers; and we all wait out the silence, expecting the worst.

Without giving an answer the men from outside open fire at the door. _Shit, shit, shit._ I quickly move to push my upper body down to the floor and cover my head with my arms. After a moment the shooting stops and we are back in utter silence. I allow myself to sit back up, and my friends look just as apprehensive as I feel. _They can't just be gone_ , I think to myself just as there is a noise coming from the back of the bar. Glenn acts quickest and is up on his feet, disappearing into the back to check on the noise. Rick and I exchange a nervous look, and all of a sudden there are gunshots. "GLENN?!" Rick yells, but Glenn quickly answers: "I'm okay."

 _We need to get out of here,_ I think and quickly make up a plan in my head. "Rick," I whisper. "I'm going to go out back and get the car, Hershel or Glenn can cover me. I'll drive up front and we'll get out of here."

I can see the protest in Rick's eyes, but before he can say anything I add: "I'm the smallest, hence the hardest target to hit." Then I get up and hurry toward the back without waiting for his answer. Glenn is standing near the exit. I quickly explain my plan to him and tentatively open the door. I can feel my heart hammering in my chest; my hands would be shaking if I would not be holding on to my gun so tightly. _Don't think –just run._ I stop worrying and step out of the backdoor into a small alley, keeping close to the wall. The sky is dark by now, the cover of night has fallen while we talked to Hershel inside the bar. I cautiously move to the end of the back alley and tentatively look out into the street. It is deserted but for our car. I cannot see any shooters, nor is anyone opening fire at me. Even though it seems strange I try to push my worries away and slowly make my way to the car. When I am close to it I quickly turn around to Glenn who is covering me, signaling him that I am about to reach the car and that he should let the others know we are about to take off. I can see Glenn turning around and going back inside, and I have just turned to open the car door when I can feel strong hands grabbing me from behind.

I am immediately trying to kick and to free myself from the grasp, but it is hopeless. The man has a grip on me that is too tight.

"NO! LET GO OF ME!" I shout and try desperately to free myself, but all knowledge of self-defense seems to have escaped my memory.

"Come on, James, quickly!" I can hear the man behind me shouting, and all of a sudden there is a second man next to me. He is tall and has dark eyes, and he is holding a cloth that he quickly and mercilessly stuffs into my mouth and then ties at the back of my head. My screams are now effectively turned into muffles. I am thrashing around me as good as I can, but it is a lost cause. The man is holding on to me to tight, and the second man has grabbed my legs.

I can see a pickup approaching from down the road. It comes to a screeching halt next to us and the man named James lets go of my legs, picks up a rope from the loading area, uses it to tie my hands and then the two of them maneuver me onto the back of the car. I am trying to fight them as good as I can, but gagged and tied up there is not much I can do. My gun fell when the first man attacked me, and they were quick to take my machete as well. The only thing left is the knife in my boot which I hope they don't find. I try to think clearly but panic is clouding my judgement.

As soon as I am secured on the back of the pickup, the men start shouting for someone named Randall. Immediately, a boy appears on the roof of one of the houses next to the pickup. He starts to panic when he sees that his friends are about to leave so he jumps off the roof, but falls and hurts himself. I expect the men to run to help him, but instead the pickup truck drives off just as Glenn and the others are emerging out of the bar. I lock eyes with Rick for a moment, and his eyes reflect the horror that I am sure is visible in mine.

 _They are taking me._

I can hear him shouting my name, can see him and Glenn shoot at the trucks' tires to stop my abduction, but it is too late – the pickup turns a corner and my friends are out of sight. That is when I feel a sharp pain on the back of my head and the world around me turns black.


	8. Hostage

"Come on, missy! Just tell me where your group is."

I do not reply, only stare blankly at the wall across the room. He hits me again, his closed fist striking the eye that is not swollen shut yet.

This has been going on for days. After they abducted me, I woke up in a tiny room, empty except for a single chair and a bucket in the corner. It must have been a storage room before it was emptied. There is only a tiny window at the top of one wall, but not big enough to climb through even if I had a ladder to get up there. I was not tied up anymore when I woke up, but when I checked my boot I realized that they had found my knife. Sometimes an elderly woman brings me a little bit of food, which I am eternally grateful for, because I am starving; and every day two men come in to question me about our camp, which I do not understand because apparently they do have accommodation themselves. One of them is a dark haired man, standing about two heads taller than me, his eyes showing me that he utterly enjoys beating me up. He is the one doing all the talking and hitting, the second man usually just stands in the corner, observing. He has lighter hair, but his eyes do not give anything away. Something about him makes my skin curl.

As usual they came in again today, put me on the chair and tied my hands and feet up. Then the dark haired man began asking his usual questions, and as usual I did not say a single word. He hits me in the face and in the stomach, I think yesterday he might have cracked one of my ribs a bit. I'm in a lot of pain, but I am determined not to talk to them.

"Goddammit bitch, _talk!"_ I snap back to reality when he hits me in the stomach and I cannot breathe for a second. He is getting frustrated, and usually this means they will leave the room again soon.

"Get out," the blond man says all of a sudden and my eyes snap to him. This is the first time he has spoken. His voice is deep and quiet.

"Damien.." the other man starts, but the blonde cuts him off immediately.

"I said: get out," he says more threateningly, and the dark haired man leaves the room. It is obvious that Damien has the authority here. I eye him apprehensively as he slowly walks over to me, his hands in the pockets of his dirty jeans.

"You haven't said a word in a week. Time to change up our methods." There is no hint of anger in his voice. His tone is calculating, and somehow that worries me more than the angry man. "Do you have a name?" he asks as he bends down in front of my chair. I look him in the eyes but don't answer. His features are soft, but his eyes do not fit the rest of his face. They are incredibly dark and somehow disquieting.

"Alright, we'll play it your way." He gets up again and starts to slowly pace the room. For a minute the only noise I can hear are his footsteps and my pained breathing.

"I am with a group of about 20 people. We have been traveling for a while after out last place was overrun. We need another place to stay, and from the looks of it you may have a nice one. My men tell me you were in town without bags, or food, or anything, for that matter. Only your weapons, which we took. Smart idea with the knife by the way - unfortunately not smart enough," he smiles, yet the smile does not reach his eyes. He stops pacing and focuses his attention back on me.

"You don't look malnourished, you don't have bags under your eyes, your clothes are fairly clean - which makes me think you have a nice little place where you don't have to worry about the end of the world. I _need_ that for my people, because they are tired and they are hungry. Your people have killed two of ours, so I am going to need a little more from you than silence," he ends his monologue and gives me time to answer. When I stay quiet he turns on his heels and exits the room, leaving the door open. I am confused and keep my focus on the door, curiously.

He comes back after a minute, holding a butcher's knife in his hands. My eyes grow wide immediately when I realize what he is going to do and I automatically push myself back in the chair, trying to widen the distance between myself and the weapon.

"There we go, finally getting a reaction out of you. Ready to talk yet?" he says lightly. I swallow hard but shake my head.

"Alright then." He produces a cloth from his back pocket and pushes it into my mouth. "In case you're a screamer," he grins and proceeds to circle me, turning the knife in his hands. He stops in front of me and places the knife on top of my collar bone. My heart is beating so hard that it must be audible in the next room, but my eyes do not leave his. Then he puts pressure on his hand and drags the knife along the bone. All my thoughts disappear and everything that is left existing in the world is pain. I immediately break eye contact, it hurts so bad that I have to close my eyes. He stops cutting, but the pain only becomes minimally less. I can feel hot blood running down my chest. He asks me if I'm ready to talk, but I shake my head. My breathing is hard. He continues pacing around me, stopping behind my back, and without a warning the flashing pain returns as he cuts my upper left arm. This time the pain is too much and I scream, the sound muffled by the cloth.

* * *

I am hardly conscious when the door opens again.

"Please, no more... I can't," I mumble in panic, but when I look up it is none of the men entering the room. It is the woman who brings me food. She looks about 60, and her hair starting to turn grey. She looks at me kindly.

"It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you," she says as she closes the door behind her and walks up to me. I am still sitting in the chair, my hands and feet still tied up from my last interrogation. I don't know how long ago Damien left, and I do not know how he was cutting me with that knife. Time has lost all meaning since I have been in this room, and the pain only made it worse.

The woman has a wet rag in her hand, and she kneels down in front of me and starts cleaning the cut on my chest carefully. I wince when the cold fabric touches my skin and she whispers an apology. When she is done with that wound she continues cleaning the cuts on my arms, and by the time she is finished and comes back around to face me, I am crying. Today was too much. I am hungry and tired, and incredibly cold, but most of all scared. I have lost hope that I will see Rick and the others again, and I am beginning to think I might not even see the outside of this room again.

The lady puts a hand on my cheek. "I am so sorry," she says, and when I look at her I can tell that she is sincere. Then she turns around and leaves the room.

* * *

It is another seven days before I see the woman again. I have only had food twice since our last meeting when she cleaned my wounds and I cried; and those meals were brought to me by a different person. Damien has not returned since. These days it is only the dark haired man coming into the room, but the knife has become part of his equipment. The fact that the blond man has not been back tells me that he is not expecting me to talk; so hitting and cutting me is now the only part of my routine, my punishment for killing two of theirs.

Today, the woman enters the room carrying a plastic plate with food, no cutlery. I assume they expect me to use it as a weapon. The food is not much but it looks like heaven to me. She hands me the plate and I dig in immediately. I slow down when I realize she is not leaving, and I look at her face properly for the first time. She has a black eye and she looks uncertain, like she wants to say something but can't. She turns around to leave, but then turns back when she is almost at the door. She quickly returns to where I am sitting and looks me in the eye.

"I'm gonna get you out of here," she whispers and leaves without waiting for an answer.

My eyes widen. _What?_

* * *

Another four days go by before the woman returns to my room. She is carrying a black windbreaker in her hand and throws it to me.

"Put this on, so I can hide you better."

I do as she says. My limps feel weak as I get up. "I need my gun." My voice is hoarse and weak from not having used it for so long.

"Can't do that. This is as good as it gets," she says and hands me a knife that I hide in the sleeve of the jacket. We carefully exit the room, the woman going ahead and checking the corners. I feel shaky and have to put one hand on the wall as I walk. I have not had a proper meal in over two weeks and I am noticeably weak. My rib is also still giving me a hard time, and each time I take a breath I can feel the pain. We reach a door and the lady opens it carefully. After she checks if there is anyone outside she turns back to me.

"This is as far as I can get you. You have about 10 minutes before someone will notice that you are gone, so try to get as far away as you can."

I look at her gratefully. "Thank you."

* * *

I exit the house and see that I am still in the city. There are no people, but I can see a few walkers down the road. I have no idea where I am exactly and how I will find the farm again, so if I ever want to get back to the others I will have to find some point of orientation. On a hunch I head to the left and keep close to the sidewalk, hoping that no one will see me if anyone is around. I am just nearing a crossroads when a man comes around the corner.

With a hitched intake of breath I realize it is the dark haired man that enjoyed beating me so much. He recognizes me immediately.

"HEY!" he shouts and runs toward me. I go backwards carefully, knowing fully well that I am in no condition to outrun him - or even to run at all for that matter.

"How did you get out?!" he shouts as he charges at me. My mind is so cloudy from hunger and pain that I can barely form a straight thought, but what I do realize is that he is too loud - the others will hear us. I can only hope to use a moment of surprise, so when he is close enough to me, I make a quick step forward, pull out my knife and jam it into his neck with as much force as I can muster. I use my other hand to cover his mouth as he sinks to the ground, his eyes wide in surprise. I can see the life vanishing out of his eyes and quickly remove my knife from his neck and stab his head, so he will not turn. With a chill I remember the night Rick told me the last thing Dr. Jenner told him before we left the CDC: no matter if you're bitten, you _always_ come back.

I get up and force myself to move on. My whole body is shaking and after a few steps I have to stop because I am about to throw up. I turn to the side and empty the insides of my stomach onto the street. It is mostly bile since I have not eaten in four days. I try to push the image of the dying man from my mind and continue on down the street, turning a corner.

After a while I find a supermarket and decide to head inside. There will be hardly anything left, but I am in desperate need of not only food, but also bandages. Inside is chaos caused by ransacking. I find a few chocolate bars that I eat up hungrily, my stomach happy about every bit of foot it can get. When I check behind the counter I find a dead woman lying on the ground. My heart drops, but she is wearing a bag, and since I need one I decide to take it from her. I carefully move her upper body to retrieve the strap from her shoulder and try to suppress a new wave of nausea.

The bag is empty, the contents possibly already stolen by others. I fill it with everything I can find: A few more chocolate bars, an empty bottle that I can fill later, a can of food hidden behind a fallen shelf. I am extremely relieved to also find a few bandages and band-aids. Since I can feel that some of my cuts are still bleeding I walk into the back of the store where I find a restroom. I take off the jacket the woman gave me and inspect my wounds. _I look horrible._ My red hair is tangled and clotted with either dirt or blood, my face and body are bruised, my right eye is black and swollen shut, and there are cuts on my chest and all over my arms, my left arm is almost entirely covered in fresh as well as dried blood. The first cut Damien gave me on my upper left arm is the worst. I don't think that I have a lot of time before they come looking for me, so I only quickly bandage my upper left arm completely and put some band-aids on the worst of the other cuts.

When I am finished I put the jacket back on, quickly leave the store and head further down the road. My whole body hurts but I force myself to go on. After a while I find a crossing that looks familiar. _Yes!_ Over there is the pharmacy I went to once with Glenn, so if I am lucky I can find my way back home from here.

I break into a slow, painful jog because I want to get out of here as quickly as possible. I manage to get out of town and walk down the freeway towards our farm, but the farther I get the more exhausted I am. My breathing is hitched and I am pressing my right hand on my left side, not sure if it helps with my cracked rib or makes it worse. When I can barely keep my eyes open anymore, I find an abandoned car at the side of the road just as dusk settles. The car is empty and I lie down in the back, falling asleep almost immediately.

* * *

I wake up because my stomach is cramping, screaming for food. I have not eaten in such a long time, but what is even worse than the hunger is the thirst. I don't have any water, so I settle for the can of food that I do have. When I eat up I feel only slightly better, but knowing that I will reach the farm soon, I convince myself to keep going. I continue down the road, and once I start to recognize my surroundings I cut of into the forest, knowing that this way I will pass the little stream that runs through the forest. My throat burns, and when I finally manage to reach the stream I almost collapse into it. I drink thirstily, my head bowed into the water. When I come up for air I almost start laughing of joy - water has never tasted so good. I take my bottle out of my backpack and fill it up. I am about to put it back into my bag when I am startled by a sound. I turn around and see a walker coming my way.

 _Oh no._ I get back on my feet, still shaky, and grab for my knife. The walker is a woman, thankfully no taller than me. She couldn't have been older than 18 when she died. The walker is coming at me fast and I am scared, because the knife in my hand is shaking. I move forward and it takes me a lot more strength than usual to kill it, and when I do, I fall over with it. If this would have been more than one I would have been in big trouble. I am too weak to put up much of a fight.

I need to get back to the farm. Hershel will be able to take care of my injuries and I will be safe with the others. I cannot wait to see them again. I move forward, knowing I am close now. There, I just need to move past the next treeline and I will be able to see it. But when I move out of the forest, my face drops.

 _No, no, no!_

There are walkers everywhere, the fields are swarming with them. The barn is burning.


	9. I Thought You Were Dead

When I sleep I can see the dark-haired man dying, over and over and over again. I can feel his hot blood running down my arm, I can feel his breath on the hand that I use to cover his mouth, but most of all I see his eyes - wide in shock. This time is different though - I stabbed his head, but he is still coming back. No matter how many times I try, the grunting from his mouth just keeps getting louder.

When I finally snap out of my dream I can hear a branch snapping and realize that the grunting did not come from my dream, but from a walker right in front of me. It is a tall one, and only five feet away from me. I was sitting down, leaning against a tree trunk when I fell asleep - I just wanted to take a quick break because I was physically incapable of moving any further, and apparently I woke up just in time.

I have just enough time to reach for my knife when it is already on me, trying to grab and trying to bite. I use my left arm to hold its head away and a shooting pain soars through my side. At this point, the walker is much stronger than I am, but somehow I still manage to drive my knife into its head just as it is about to bite my shoulder, and it collapses right on top of me.

I wince as I use my arms to try to push it off of me, and it takes three attempts to slip out from under it completely. I lean back against the tree, breathing hard, my heart hammering as if it were to explode in a second.

It has been three days since I was at the farm. When I saw the destruction I ran back into the forest immediately, knowing that I would be dead if even one of the walkers would notice be. I knew straight away there is no chance that any of my friends are still here if they are alive. I have been walking through the woods since, not knowing what to do or where to go. At this point I am sure that at least one of my wounds is infected, because I am getting weaker and weaker and I feel feverish. My food has been gone for three days, and yesterday I ran out of water.

As I am looking at the dead walker next to me a wave of desperation hits me. I am not deluding myself, if I don't find anyone who can help me, I will die. If I don't find water or food, I will die. As I look over to the dead walker next to me yet again, I think I also might not survive another attack. If I fall asleep again, there is a possibility that I will not wake up.

I close my eyes and can feel tears running down my face. I can't stop it and after a while my sobs are the only thing I can hear. This is the first time since the beginning that I don't have anywhere to go to, or even a slightest idea of what to do, so I curl up on the forest floor and lie there until my eyes stop tearing up.

* * *

When I finally manage to stop sobbing I carefully push myself up on my right arm and use the tree as an anchor to stabilize myself on my feet. I feel dizzy and tired, but I force myself to move. If I want to live, I need to find help or food or shelter. So I slowly start walking into a random direction, hoping I will find a street which I can use for orientation. At the moment, I am absolutely lost. It is not unlikely that I am in fact walking in circles.

I am not making great progress because I keep having to stop to catch my breath and hold onto a tree for support. I am just starting again when I hear voices. My eyes widen in fear, because my first thought is that the men from the town found me. I want to see who is talking before they see me. I crouch down behind a little bush to hide and try to suppress a groan as pain shoots through my left side.

The voices are coming nearer, and for the moment I cannot see anyone, only make out which direction they are coming from. I think there are two people. When they get nearer I can hear a man speaking, and my heart drops when I do not recognize the voice. I realize that even though I expected it to be the men from the town, I was hoping it would be Rick or Glenn, or anyone from my old camp. I close my eyes for a moment and try to suppress a new wave of desperation.

I am still hiding in my spot when I can hear the two pass closely in front of me. When they have passed and are heading further away in the other direction I lift my head up a little to try to get a look at them. For now, I can only see the man who is speaking, the other person is covered from my view. The one who is talking is tall and bald, and I can see a shotgun hanging loosely on his shoulder. Even from behind he looks intimidating.

When the second person steps into my field of view, I gasp. She has turned her back to me but I would notice that red jacket anywhere.

 _Raven._

It can't be, but it must, because everything about this woman looks like Raven - the height, the jacket, the dark hair held up in a ponytail. As far as I am concerned this must be a dream, or I have become so feverish that I have started hallucinating, but it all does not matter. I _need_ to get her attention. I try to shout her name but it comes out as a raspy whisper.

"Raven!" I try again but it is still only hushed. They are walking further way, not hearing me, and I am starting to panic. Again, I use the tree next to me as support for getting up, and while I do so I finally manage to call her with an appropriate shout.

"Raven!"

I can see them stopping in their tracks, turning quickly. Both of them immediately have their guns up and pointing at me.

"Raven," I say again, this time quieter. It is her. It _really_ is her. She looks at me in disbelief and I can see her lowering her gun, her eyes wide in surprise. "Raven," I say again, more to myself. I push myself off the tree and start to walk into her direction as fast as my body allows me to. At my movement she seems to finally snap out of her frozen shock, because she drops her gun and starts to run.

"Holy _fucking_ shit!" she exclaims right before she reaches me and pulls me into her arms.

"You're alive," I say quietly as I am holding on to my best friend. Her familiar scent fills my nostrils, and her familiar laugh fills my ears as she holds me tight, and tears escape my eyes.

We finally pull away and look each other up and down.

"You're the best hallucination I ever had," I say with a small sob that is laughter at the same time.

Her face changes when she looks at my face. She reaches out and touches my hair carefully, looking at the clots of blood. I only now remember how I look.

"What happened to you?"

"That's a long story," I start, not having the energy to tell her. "I can't believe you're real," I add, pulling her in for another hug. I hold on to her almost desperately.

We are interrupted by Ravens companion clearing his throat.

"Who's your friend?" I ask.

"That's Lincoln," she tells me and then turns to him. "This is Zoey." He looks at me in surprise. " _The_ Zoey _?"_

His comment puzzles me, but I am interrupted by Raven gasping. I turn my face back to her and she looks at me wide-eyed, like she forgot something.

"You have to come with us!" she says, takes my hand and starts pulling me away.

She almost breaks into a run a few times and I have to remind her more than once to please slow down so I can keep up. I am full of adrenaline, but I also stumble more than once, my limbs acting more on their own than on my command.

"Where are you staying?" I ask.

"We found a little cottage in the middle of this forest a few days ago, that's where we're staying at the moment. We lost our last place a few weeks ago."

"Same here," I say, and add "do you have any water on you?"

"No sorry, but we have some when we get there. We were just out to look for more food."

I nod and follow her. My throat is burning and my stomach has been cramping constantly for the last 24 hours. I try to push through the pain and the fever for now. Raven has not let go of my hand since we started walking, and I am grateful. For one, I only allow myself to believe she is real because I am touching her, but I am also afraid I might fall over if she wasn't holding on to me.

When we have walked for another five minutes we reach a small clearing and at the far side of it I can see a small cottage. It looks old but intact, actually a really sweet place. It is made entirely out of dark wood and has a big porch. When we start walking toward it Raven turns to Lincoln.

"Run ahead and get Bellamy."

My heart leaps at the mention of his name. _What?_

I stop dead in my tracks and look at her incredulously. Raven doesn't notice that I stopped, instead looks after Lincoln as he runs off, only turning to me when she realizes I dropped her hand.

"What?" I manage to say, my voice trembling.

She walks back to me and looks me in the eyes, her expression gentle. "He's alive. _He's here."_

I look over her shoulder at the cottage when I see movement. The door opens, and there he is.

Time around me seems to stand still and all I can see is him, standing on that porch. He is wearing army boots and black pants which are slightly ripped on his right knee. His shirt is dark and just tight enough to show a bit of what's underneath. I finally allow myself to look at his face. His features seem hardened, and it looks like there is a layer of dust on his skin, his freckles barely visible. His hair is longer than I remember, and extremely tousled from not grooming it properly. His eyes are dark and wide in surprise, and I can see his lips form my name.

"Oh my god.." I keep repeating the words as I start to walk into his direction - first slowly and then faster and faster, ignoring my rib, ignoring my cramps, ignoring everything. He reciprocates my movement and starts hurrying down from the porch in my direction. When he reaches me I put my hand on his chest and keep him at an arm's length, his chest hard under my fingers, my eyes taking him in, trying to convince myself that this really _is_ Bellamy. My fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt, and with a quiet "You're alive" I finally pull him in for an embrace.

His arms are around me immediately, pulling me close, like they are holding on for dear life. His head buried in my neck, I can smell his familiar scent, feel his familiar grasp and it finally hits me: _this is real. He is real._ I can feel the tears starting to flow while he puts one of his hands in my hair, holding my head. He keeps repeating "you're alive", just as I have before, as if to convince himself.

He pulls his head back, just enough for me to find his lips with mine. The kiss is not long and passionate - it is short but full of emotion, of desperation and happiness, of assurance - a long wait finally over. When we break the kiss I rest my forehead against his, closing my eyes.

"I thought you were dead," I say desperately, tears still running down my face.

"So did I."

Eventually Bellamy breaks away and carefully places both of his hands on my face, inspecting my bruises. "Who did this to you?"

"Doesn't matter," I say and shake my head, breaking eye contact.

" _Who_ did this?"

"It doesn't matter," I repeat and look back at him. "I just...I need to sit down. And I desperately need some water."

* * *

I lean on Bellamy as we walk toward the cottage, and when I get inside I realize that he was not the last surprise of the day. More of our friends made it here - Octavia is here, as well as Murphy, Monty and Finn. According to Bellamy even Clarke is here, but she is out with someone they met along the way. A lot of emotional hugs are exchanged, especially with Octavia.

"I c _annot_ believe all of you are here," I say, feeling exhausted as I approach Finn who is the last one to greet. He comes to me with a big smile on his face and tries to pick me up as he hugs me, yet as soon as he pulls me close and my feet leave the floor I wince in pain - he pushed right on my cracked rib. He lets go immediately and steps back with an apologetic look on his face.

I hold my side and bend over forwards with a grunting noise, trying to push through the pain. "Never mind," I say through gritted teeth, trying to make a nonchalant 'all good' gesture toward Finn with my free hand. Bellamy is at my side immediately.

"What's wrong?"

"I need Clarke," I say hoarsely.

"Someone get Clarke, she went to the stream with Lexa," I hear him instructing.

Finn volunteers and leaves, while Bellamy helps me move over to a couch to sit down. "Someone get her some water."

I sit down and lean my head back against the wall, closing my eyes. "Can I get a bit of food too?" I ask, and hear Bellamy's footsteps depart.

I only open my eyes again when I can feel someone sitting down next to me. "Here you go," Raven says as she hands me a bottle of water. I drink up thirstily and shortly after Bellamy returns with a can of food in his hands. Unfortunately, I don't even manage to eat half of the can when I hand it back.

"You have to eat more," he says.

"I haven't eaten properly in three weeks, if I eat more I'll throw it up again," I answer and lean my head back against the wall, eyes shut. I don't need to see him to know that he looks concerned.

A moment later I can hear the door opening and people coming in.

"Oh my god, Zoey!" Clarke's voice is unmistakable, and I slowly get up to greet her, smiling at her when she comes up to me. Her blonde hair hangs loosely over her shoulders, and she is wearing a denim jacket over a dirty white shirt. I give her a quick, careful hug before she turns to business, looking at the bruises on my face. I am impressed with how quickly she turns into the professional doctor. "Alright, let me have a look at this."

"That's actually not what I need you to look at," I start and take a step back to take off my jacket. I slowly open the zipper and then carefully use my right hand to free my arms from the sleeves, careful to not let my face show too much pain. This is the first time since the supermarket bathroom that I take off the jacket. My bandages and arms are covered with dried blood, but I can see that most of my cuts have stopped bleeding. Unfortunately, the bandage that I used to cover the big gash on my left arm is almost entirely red with fresh blood. I turn my glance away from my arm and look back at my friends. Clarke is eyeing me professionally - taking in the damage, but behind her I can see Raven covering her mouth with her hand and Bellamy looking overwhelmingly worried. I try to focus on Clarke. "I think it's infected," I say quietly, motioning to my bandage. "I have been feeling feverish the last couple of days."

"Alright, sit down," Clarke says.

"I'm going to lie down if you don't mind," I say, feeling dizzy, and move to lie down on the couch, the adrenaline slowly leaving my body. Clarke kneels down next to me and starts to carefully unwrap the bandage. Bellamy moves to the right end of the couch, standing next to my head.

"What happened?"

"Someone wanted to get information..I'll explain later."

We are silent for a minute, everyone focusing on Clarke. She finally manages to unwrap everything, and as she pulls the bloody bandage away her face drops, if only for a second.

"That bad, huh?" I try to sound casual, but I am scared to look.

"No, that's not it. I just...I need to clean it. Someone get me some water and a cloth!" she says, and I can tell that it is worse than she is trying to let on. After a moment Octavia hands her a bottle of water and a small towel, and I am closing my eyes again because I am becoming more and more sleepy.

"Alright, I need two people to go back to the stream and get more water. I'll need a lot to clean all of her wounds. Someone else go and find me some alcohol or anything that works as a disinfectant," Clarke instructs and I can hear two or three people walking away, following her orders.

"Alright Zoey, this is going to hurt," she says and I wince when I feel a sudden flash of pain on my left arm. The other thing I feel is much more gentle; a hand is slowly caressing my head and I know that it is Bellamy. I try to concentrate on him as I drift away further.

"Zoey, I need you to stay awake!" is the last thing I hear before I pass out.


	10. The Past And The Present

**Thank you Bluebirdg12 & Pluv143000 for the reviews! I love hearing what you think :)**

* * *

 _"_ _Clarke, she is burning up!"_

I can make out a male voice, but I am too tired to open my eyes. Consciousness comes in waves, and it never lasts long.

" _She's septic. I need medicine!"_

Before I comprehend what was said I am already gone again. I fall back into yet another feverish dream, combining memories with nightmares. They usually involve walkers coming at me. I am trying to defend myself but the gun I am holding has no bullets. I am trying to slash at them with my machete but I somehow cannot move my arms, it feels like they turned into jelly. Then the walkers disappear and are replaced by the dark haired man yelling at me, and suddenly I am back in my chair, hands and feet tied. He is telling me that I will now be punished for killing him, and his face distorts in gruesome ways as he approaches me.

These dreams keep repeating themselves, only ever changing slightly, sequences altering, yet each version is just as frightening as the last. Only sometimes these dreams are interrupted with voices. They don't seem scary, even though I cannot make out what they are saying. Sometimes it is only one voice speaking, closer to me, deep and gentle and calming. But every time the nightmare wins and I am pulled back under the cloak of darkness.

* * *

 _Birds_. The first thing I hear when I wake up are birds, chirping lightly in the distance, not a care in the world. The next thing I am aware of is how dry my throat is - it feels like sandpaper. _What happened?_ I slowly open my eyes and the light is so blinding that I need to close and open them a few times before my pupils manage to adjust. _Where am I?_ I can see a dark wooden ceiling, and I remember Raven, the cottage - _Bellamy!_ I slowly turn my head and try to make out where I am. I am not lying on the couch anymore, instead I am in a separate room, lying in a bed. To my left I can see a partially open window. _Birds,_ I think. Outside I see the meadow, and the forest further in the back. The sun stands high in the sky with not a single cloud in sight, a perfectly lovely day. I move my head again and try to take in the rest of the room. When I look down I see that my arms are covered in clean bandages and say a mental thank you to Clarke. When I look to my right I smile, because I see the sleeping form of Bellamy next to my bed. He is sitting on a chair and his upper body is leaning on the bed, his head positioned on his folded arms so I cannot see his face, only his dark flock of hair. How lucky am I, to have found him? The more I think about it, the more unlikely it seems to just run into him. Yet here he is - sound asleep right next to me, unharmed.

I slowly reach out my right arm to touch him, and the movement reminds me how sore my body is. I carefully place my hand on his head and use my thumb to stroke his hair, my hands easily picking up the familiar movement. His hair has lost its familiar softness, instead it feels dry and tangled. The toll of the apocalypse.

Under my hand Bellamy is starting to stir, my touch waking him up.

"Hi there," I whisper, my voice so raspy it is barely audible. He looks up and his dark eyes find mine. He takes my hand, the one that I used to stroke his hair just a moment ago. I give him a small smile. "You need a haircut," I smile.

He stares at me for a moment before he drops his head and breaks into a small chuckle. When he looks back up at me he gives me my favorite smile, which lightens up his eyes and gives him small wrinkles. "Jokes," he starts. "Really?"

I laugh at his comment, but as soon as I do a shooting pain soars through my side. My rib isn't hurting as bad as it used to, yet it is far from healed. "Do you have some water?" I ask.

He quickly leans over his chair and picks up a bottle, handing it to me as soon as I ask. I drink up thirstily and feel my throat becoming softer. I hand the bottle back to Bellamy, and after he puts it down on my nightstand he makes to get up, to get Clarke I assume.

"Don't," I say and reach for his arm. "I just got you back."

I carefully lift the blanket to my right and motion to the free space. "Come on. I promise I'll be fine until Clarke checks up on me."

He gives me a stern look. He is worried, I know as much, but eventually he walks over to the bed and slips in next to me, my head automatically lifting as he puts his arm under it. I turn to the side, ignoring the protests of my rib, and snuggle up to him, my head resting on his chest. His arm is around me, his left hand positioned on my waist, and my free arm is resting on his stomach, my fingers drawing imaginary circles.

"You know, I thought I was hallucinating when Raven showed up with you," he starts. "Mableton was the first city that was bombed, I was so sure you were dead..and.." he trails off and it is evident he is blaming himself for leaving.

"Hey," I lift my head and look up at him. His features are hard and his eyes full of regret. "I'm here now," I add. He nods and places a kiss on my forehead, but I can tell that I didn't make it better.

"I was so worried about you," he continues, staring at the wall ahead. "You show up here... and then you almost die." He looks back to me, his eyes finding mine, his expression more urgent than before. "You _can't_ do that to me." He doesn't say it as reproachful, nor as a joke. It almost sounds like a plea. As I look at him now, his stern, worried expression is gone, replaced by a face of exhaustion. The bags under his eyes are enormous and I wonder how much sleep he got since I came here. Looking at him like that, I wonder how I would feel if our positions were switched. If Bellamy showed up at my camp, looking like I did, almost dying. A shudder runs down my back. I would go mad. I try to give him a reassuring smile. "I didn't come back to you just to die on you," I say gently. "Here," I add, pulling out my necklace from under my shirt. I open it carefully and take off our rings, handing him his. "This one's yours."

His eyes grow in surprise. "How?" he smiles, perplexed.

I put my own ring on my finger and lie down on his chest again. "I was in our apartment," I say, remebering the pool of blood. "Whose blood was that?"

He hesitates for a second. "Jaspers."

My heart drops. Up until I ran into Raven I assumed my friends were dead, but hearing it confirmed still hurts. "What happened?"

"We were planning on leaving the city," Bellamy starts, his voice quiet. "All of us. The plan was to gather up everything; clothes, food, whatever we can carry, and then meet at Ravens place to leave together. I took Jasper back to our place because he wasn't feeling good, he was white as a sheet. I didn't think he could make it back to his place alone. Turns out he was bit." Bellamy pauses and swallows hard. "Only I didn't know what that meant. I put him on the couch and went to gather things, trying to keep him talking, but pretty soon he didn't answer anymore and when I went to check on him...he wasn't Jasper anymore. He attacked me. I tried to stop him but nothing worked, I even stabbed him eventually - multiple times - but he still came at me. I didn't know to go for the head yet..so at some point I pushed him off of me and just ran with everything I managed to pack until then."

"I'm sorry," I say and put my arm around him a little tighter.

"Don't be. What's done is done." His tone is not harsh, it is the tone of someone trying to forget. I look up at Bellamy and his face is stern, the toll end of the world took on him clearly visible in his expression. I am just about to reply when the door opens and Clarke comes in.

"I thought I heard voices," she says as she casually walks over to the bed.

"Ever heard of knocking?" I chuckle.

She only smiles. "How are you feeling?" she asks as she starts examining my arms, and I can feel Bellamy moving out of the bed to give her space, which makes me want to protest, but I restrain myself.

"Better. I mean, exhausted and sore, but better. How did you fix me up?"

"You can thank Finn and Murphy for that. They went to get meds."

"Really?" I smile at the thought. It feels good to have my friends back. "Where are they? Get them in here. Raven and Octavia too."

Clarke starts to object but I interrupt her. " _Please_ , I thought all of you were dead."

She looks at me for a minute, and I know she will give in eventually. Clarke always had a soft spot, and I am grateful for it now. "Also thanks for, you know, saving my live," I smile and give her a little nudge on the arm.

"Alright," Clarke rolls her eyes but can't hide a smile. She walks back to the door and when she opens it, Raven walks in immediately, as if she had been eavesdropping.

"Was about time," she says casually. She is wearing a grey shirt, her hair up in her signature ponytail. She walks over to the bed and does not take any extra caution, instead she almost leaps into it and pulls me in for a big hug.

"You have no idea how good it is to see you! You know, conscious," she jokes and I laugh.

"Good to see that you haven't lost your spirit."

She settles in next to me, locking arms with me while she does so. When she gets comfortable I lean my head casually on her shoulder. Raven Reyes has been my best friend for over half a decade, and she is probably one of the most brilliant people I ever met.

After Raven, the others make their way into the room, all of them giving me smiles. Octavia, looking fierce in a black leather jacket; Finn and Murphy, joking with each other as they enter, Monty trotting in last, almost shy. Bellamy settles back into his chair next to the bed. We are also joined by two people I don't know yet. The man I saw with Raven in the woods, whose name I cannot remember for the life of me, with an expression that somehow looks like he is annoyed yet angry. The other one is a woman with dark brown hair and dark eyes, not much taller than I am. I can't help but think that she is beautiful, even though she looks stern. Fierceness seems to radiate off of her.

"So Zoey, these are Lincoln and Lexa," Clarke says.

"Hey," I say, and add to Lincoln: "Well, I sort of met you." He gives me a small grin and nods his head.

"So, I think it's about time you tell us how the hell you ended up here," Raven says and nudges me in the side.

"First of all, _ouch,_ " I tell her. "Second of all, I hope you have some time." I dive right into the story. I tell them that I made my way to Atlanta, even though I knew that they would most likely be gone if they survived. I told them about meeting Rick, Glenn and Daryl, about how they took me in and brought me to their camp. I tell them about Lori and Carol and Andrea, about the CDC and about how we lost Sophia. I talk about our time on the farm for a long time, about Maggie, about nights at the campfire, about how we grew into a small family, and finally about the day Shane opened the barn.

"That day was bad," I say and drop my gaze. "Hershel disappeared that afternoon. Rick and Glenn were about to go into town to look for him, and I decided to join them last minute. Turns out Ricks instincts were right and we found him at the bar, and while we were trying to convince him to come back, two other men showed up, and that's when everything went downhill. It started out as chitchat but soon enough they wanted to come and join us on the farm. When we declined they got angry. One guy pulled a gun on Rick, and Rick shot him just before the guy could pull the trigger on him." I swallow. "I shot the other one."

I pause and look over at Bellamy. He gives me a reassuring nod. I did what I had to do.

"We tried to get out of the bar, but just as we were about to get out of the door, more of those people came looking for the guys we just shot, so we holed up. They started shooting the front of the bar. I tried to get out of the back to get our car, but just when I got to the car...they grabbed me." I avoid eye contact. "They put me on the back of their car. Rick and Glenn were coming out of the bar and tried to stop them from taking me, but it was too little too late."

I take a moment to swallow, the memory of that night too vivid in front of my eyes. The horror in Ricks eyes, Glenn's attempts to take shots at my captors. I take a deep breath and continue my story, talking about my days in the small room, tied to a chair for most of the time. I leave out details, just give them enough information to understand how I was injured.

"How did you get out?" Clarke asks quietly.

"There was this woman who brought me food. One day she came in, gave me a knife and a jacket and helped me slip away. I raided a store for some makeshift bandages and food and then made my way back to the farm." I pause and swallow hard. "When I got there...everyone was gone. The place was on fire and there were walkers everywhere... After that, I just strayed through the forest for days, trying to stay awake." I look over to Raven. "Luckily I ran into this one," I say and give her a small smile, trying to sound more cheerful than I feel.

No one says anything for a while, and eventually the silence becomes awkward.

"Well, that's...unfortunate," Murphy says dryly, breaking the tension. I have to laugh at his poor attempt to respond. "Tell me about it," I say.

"Alright, enough catch up. The patient needs rest," Clarke says and orders everyone out of the room. Raven squeezes my hand before she gets up and joins the others.

Bellamy stays and closes the door. Then, he sits back down in his chair and takes my hand, his face heavy.

"I'm glad you got out of there," he starts.

"Yeah.." I say and drop my gaze, my head full of memories I don't want to remember.

"Hey, what is it?" He asks and carefully lifts my chin up with his free hand. All of a sudden his features drop.

"Did they.." he starts and his eyes grow wide in shock.

"No, no,.." I quickly interrupt him and shake my head. "No, they didn't. It's not that."

"Then what is it?" he asks gently.

I take a deep breath. "I ran into one of them just as I got out...one of the two that did this," I say and gesture to my bandages. "He came at me, and he was about to shout...so I put my knife in his throat." I drop my gaze, not bearing to face Bellamy. My eyes are starting to fill with tears, the pressure and fear from the last weeks finally finding an outlet. Bellamy squeezes my hand and tries to reassure me.

"You did what you had to do.."

"NO - Bellamy..." I almost shout suddenly, but my voice is choked by a sob. I am overwhelmed and when I finally talk my voice sounds angry yet desperate. "I killed that man just like I killed the one in the bar! I walked up to him and I put a knife in his throat, and then I used my other hand to cover his mouth so he wouldn't scream!" My eyes pierce Bellamy, begging him to understand. "And I could feel his hot blood running down my arm, and I saw the shock and fear in his face, and I could see the life go out of his eyes! .. I dream about him. I dream about him all the time. And every time I close my eyes I see his face..." The anger is gone from my voice at the last part, all that is left is desperation. All energy has left my body.

I try to continue but my sobs have become too hard for me to say even one more word. I can feel the tears running down my face and dropping onto the sheets, the reality of having taken another persons life not once, but twice, sinking in and making my stomach turn. My chest hurts so much that it is hard to breathe. My vision is blurry from the tears, and my right hand blindly reaches to my right, to where Bellamy is sitting. I can feel him at my side immediately. His arms are cradling me as he pulls me closer until my head leans against his chest. One of his hands rests on the side of my head and carefully stokes my hair.

"I'm sorry," he keeps repeating.

And so we sit there, me sobbing uncontrollably, holding on to him for dear life, until my eyes grow tired again.


	11. The Cottage

**Thank you BubblyFirefly47** **for the review! I appreciate it a lot! (Actually, it motivated me to keep on writing)**

 **Sorry this chapter is so long overdue.** **Here goes nothing.**

* * *

It must have been about four or five months since I ran into Raven in the woods. My bruises are healed, the swelling has gone down, and scars are the only evidence left from the knife that blemished my skin. We are still in the cabin in the woods. Initially, we only planned on staying until I was ready to move, but we came to realize that the place is ideal to hide out until we can figure out what's next. Even though there is very little space for all of us, there are hardly any walkers in the vicinity, and the cabin is hidden deep in the woods, most likely you will only find it if you either know about it or come upon it by accident. And on the other hand, we are still close enough to the town I was held captive in, so we are able to make regular supply runs. I was worried about my friends going, especially with these people around, but since we knew about the threat beforehand we could be careful.

About five weeks after I woke up from my sepsis I was finally able to convince the others to let me join on one of their supply runs. I left early in the morning together with Bellamy, Octavia and Lincoln. Thankfully they had been busy collecting weapons since the start, so we were able to take guns while still leaving enough for the ones staying behind at the cabin. I armed myself with a knife and a shotgun. I should be happy that we have an arsenal, yet I couldn't help but miss my machete. Bullets are rare, and they have only been able to find two machetes on the road - and these two are glued to Octavia's and Lincoln's sides.

I stepped out onto the porch where the other three already waited for me. Octavia impatiently walked back and forth, her hair casually braided to the back of her head. I couldn't help but think how fierce this made her look, especially with a machete strapped to her belt. She has always been a warrior of sorts, even if not in the literal way she has to be now. Bellamy was sitting on the bench to my right. He was wearing all black, and a shotgun hung loosely from his shoulder. When I exited the door he eyed me sternly, his expression clearly showing that he didn't think I was ready to go on a supply run yet.

"Alright, let's go!" Octavia said and immediately moved down from the porch onto the small clearing, closely followed by Lincoln. Bellamy slowly got up and followed them, not voicing the concerns that were evident on his face. He had never been a man of many words, so I was not exactly surprised. I quickly made my way down the porch and hurried to catch up with him.

"Why don't we get it over with now so we can enjoy the rest of the trip?" I said with a small smile as I came up next to him. When he looked at me I saw that his facial expression hadn't changed. He was not amused.

He turned his face forward again, looking at Octavia and Lincoln who were up ahead. "It's too soon," he stated simply. I anticipated this reply and quickly moved in front of him, turning to face him and effectively stopping him in his tracks.

"Look, babe. I know you don't want me in danger and I love you for it - but don't be like that," I tell him. "A few weeks ago I was septic and out there alone and still managed to survive until I found you, so this right now is probably as safe as I'll ever be. We both thought the other person was dead. So yes, I too have the instinct to lock you up in that cabin to keep you safe, but that's never gonna happen. So let's both try to worry in a more supportive way."

Not allowing him time to respond, I quickly gave him a quick kiss, my lips brushing his for a fracture of a second, and then turned around and hurried to catch up with Octavia and Lincoln. The rest of our way into town was rather uneventful, Octavia and Lincoln quietly talking, and me and Bellamy walking behind them. At some point Bell shortly put his arm around my shoulder and kissed my temple before moving on wordlessly. His way of saying I heard you.

* * *

"We're here," Octavia said after a while and turned around to face us. "Alright, no matter what happens, we will not split up. No one goes and wanders off by themselves." She specifically looked at me during the last part. I put my hands up in defense and shook my head. I wouldn't screw up the first time they decided to bring me.

"Okay. We will carefully move down the road up ahead and then turn right. That's the part of town we have not scavenged yet."

We all nodded to what Octavia instructed and then quietly started moving again. We moved in single file - Lincoln up front, Octavia right behind him, then me, and Bellamy last. I did not recognize this part of town, but it looked remarkably like every other urban area I came about since the biters started roaming: completely deserted, the streets littered with trash, abandoned vehicles, windows broken and stores raided. I couldn't help but shiver thinking about it. The end of the world effectively turned most cities into ghost towns.

In front of me Lincoln and Octavia reached the intersection and started heading toward the street on the right. O looked over her shoulder at Bellamy and me and pointed to a small grocery store at the near side of the street. I gave her a small nod and we started approaching it. The storefront was intact but dirty, preventing us from getting a good look insight. Octavia and Lincoln positioned themselves at either side of the door, their weapons in hand, ready for everything that might come out. I turned off the safety of my shotgun but hoped I wouldn't have to use it for multiple reason, but the noise from firing it being on the top of my list. Then I slowly approached the door and put my hand on the handle. I took in a deep breath, quickly turned the handle, pushed the door open and took two quick steps back, at the same time raising my gun and pointing it at the open door. We waited a few seconds but nothing happened. Then I finally released the breath I have been holding and gave Lincoln a nod. He soundlessly moved through the entrance, his machete raised, and started scanning the aisles for walkers. Octavia and I followed his example, and Bellamy stayed back at the entrance to keep an eye on the street. I moved to the right end of the store, carefully trying to navigate around thrown-over shelves and bits and pieces that were strewn all over the floor. I covered the aisles fairly quick, because hardly anything useful was left. Apparently the store had been raided multiple times before. I could find a couple of cans of food, but that was the extent of it. When I came back to the entrance Octavia and Lincoln were already waiting for me. I raised my eyebrows looking at Octavia, but she just shook her head, signaling me that they were as unsuccessful as I was.

We carefully moved out of the store and started heading further down the street. This time Bellamy was leading the way. We quickly set our sights on a second small shop. The windows of this one were broken, from the looks of it it might have been a small hardware store. The others started approaching the windows, preparing to go in, but my attention switched to another intersection further down the street. Somehow it looked familiar, and after a quick scan I found the small shop where I patched myself up a few weeks ago. Which meant that just behind the corner of that intersection...

"Zoey!" I could hear Octavia hissing at me, but my feet seemed to be carrying me without my control. I had my gun raised and started heading towards the intersection without paying attention to the others.

"Zoey, what are you doing?"

I could hear footsteps following me, but I paid no attention to them. I reached the intersection and carefully looked around the corner apprehensively, my gun raised and ready to shoot. But I didn't have to use it. Instead, I took a few steps further down the intersecting road and lowered my gun. Eventually I stopped in my tracks and I could feel my heart hammering in my chest.

There, in front of my feet, was the body of the man I killed. Only now his left leg was almost chewed off and a dead walker was lying next to him on the pavement. I could not move my eyes away from them.

I could hear the others approaching and eventually Octavia came up next to me. " _God dammit_ Zoey! We have to be careful," she hissed.

"No need," I said bitterly, not bothering to whisper. "They're gone."

"What?"

"They left him," I stated simply.

Bellamy came up on my left.

"That's him?"

I simply nodded.

"Are you sure they're gone?" Lincoln inquired.

"Yes. They never planned on staying here, that was part of the reason why they wanted to know where my camp was. This walker has been shot so they obviously saw that their friend was dead. Why would they leave him lying here this close to their hide-out, bleeding and drawing in more walkers? They left."

I could feel their eyes on me, questioning looks burning into my skin. I still could not move my eyes away from the man. His eyes were still open - the shocked expression forever branded on his face. A puddle of dried blood covered the pavement next to his head. The wound in his neck looked bigger than I remembered it.

"We have to get back - standing in plain sight is not save!" Lincoln whispered to the others.

Something about his tone made me snap. Maybe it was the implication of him whispering, I don't remember anymore - but a sudden flash of white hot anger seized me.

"You don't believe me?" I said. I wasn't shouting exactly - my voice was controlled, yet I wasn't quiet about it. "See for yourself!" I spat as I started marching off in the direction of the groups' hide-out. It was just a little way down the street from where the dead man was lying, and I marched right through the door without any safety measures. I walked through the hallway, the doors of the adjacent rooms standing open and empty. I stopped at the corner of the hallway and turned around towards my friends. They had hurriedly but carefully come after me, concerned about my recklessness.

"See?" I said and raised my arms."They're gone. They left without even thinking of burying one of their own and..." but I never got to finish my sentence.

* * *

The next thing I knew was I am lying on my back, trying to push a walker away from my body, preventing it from biting me. It came from around the corner and surprised me so much that it knocked me off my feet as it grabbed me. I just managed to fall onto my back and use my arms to hold off the dead woman. She was so close that her hair - full of dried blood and other things I did not want to think about - covered most of my view. Eventually I felt something liquid hitting my face and the walker collapsed on top of me.

Lincoln had killed it with his machete, the blood now effectively covering parts of my face. I used my right arm to push it off of me, trying to scurry away from it, and pushed myself into a sitting position against the opposite wall.

I felt my heart hammering in my chest. The anger I just felt a minute ago was replaced by shame. I could not believe how foolish I was to march off, being as loud as I was, drawing in walkers. The incident immediately sobered me up and I was scared to open my eyes and face the others, scared of seeing Bellamy's expression of 'I told you you weren't ready'.

The next thing I felt was a hand on my shoulder. I finally opened my eyes and saw Octavia standing over me, her facial expression worried, yet at the same time there was annoyance in her eyes.

"I'm so sorry," I said, a meager apology for my rant.

She offered me a hand to help me up, but before I was able to take it my eyes found the dead walker, lying across from me in the hallway. The hair covered its face, but...

I slowly moved closer, using my left hand to move the hair out of its face. It was the woman who helped me escape. My heart dropped and I felt a lump in my throat.

"They killed her for helping me," I said, more to myself than to the others.

I knelt there staring at her for what felt like an eternity. My emotions jumping from shock, to sadness, and eventually to blaming myself. She died because she was compassionate. This was a debt I would never be able to repay. She died so I could live.

The next thing I felt were two hands on my shoulders, pulling me up and turning me away from the dead body. Bellamy gave me a questioning look. _Are you okay?_

"I didn't even know her name," was all I managed to say. He looked at me for another second, then signaled the others to move out, him walking behind me to make sure I'm following them.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. They decided I would not be allowed to raid more stores with them that day, so Octavia and Lincoln left to cover as much ground as they still could with the little daylight they had left thanks to me going rogue. Bellamy stayed with me, and they agreed on a meeting point for O and Lincoln to join us when they were done.

Bellamy and I waited in front of of an apartment complex. I sat on the pavement, back against the wall, while he wordlessly strode back and forth on the street.

"You can say it," I told him eventually without looking at him, my gaze focused on the building across the street. He stopped in his tracks and looked at me. When he did not respond I faced him, and he looked puzzled.

"You were right," I stated simply. "I wasn't ready."

I could see his eyes narrowing but apart from that he did not move for a couple of seconds. Then he came over and knelt down in front of me, his hands on my knees.

"Stop."

I looked up at him in surprise. This was not the answer I expected.

"I know you're upset, but I need you to pull it together. We can't afford this right now."

My first instinct was to snap at him, but I managed to withhold it. Yet I could not help but feel hurt at his remark. My own husband just told me I didn't have the right to be upset. My brain knew he had a point, but my heart was taking it as a personal insult. My thought process must have been evident on my face, because after a long silence, Bellamy put his hand under my chin and lifted it up so I would look at him. His hair was ruffled as usual, now so long that it almost covered his eyes. His expression was stern, yet his eyes were gentle.

"I love you, but this is not the time."

I gave him a silent nod and he got up and went back to pacing the street. I don't remember how much time passed until Lincoln and Octavia returned, their machetes strapped to their belts, carrying two bags of supplies, and their expressions frustrated. The supply run was a disaster and I realized it was because of my episode. I felt ashamed and silently followed them as they passed us and, without stopping, continued to make their way back toward the cabin.

* * *

The time walking back was spent without talking. The sun had begun to set as we reached the hut, and when we got back inside Lincoln wordlessly put the bags on the table and walked out again as the others looked at us questioningly. Murphy sat in the corner, not paying much attention to us; Raven, sitting on the couch with her boyfriend Finn, just looked confused, yet Clarke immediately turned into Dr. Griffin as she saw my face. I made a quick hand gesture signaling her to sit down again.

"It's not my blood," I said, hoping that would settle the matter. Clarke looked at me inquiringly, but was nice enough not to ask questions.

"Bell and Zoey can have the bedroom tonight. Lincoln and I will take watch," Octavia said, breaking the tension, and without waiting for an answer she followed him outside.

We took turns, each person or couple allowed to have the bedroom for a couple of nights before switching and sleeping with the rest in the huge living room. The fact that Octavia turned down her night in privacy just made me feel more guilty, and I silently moved into the bedroom. After I closed the door I leaned against it for a bit, trying to work through the events of the day. It started so well and I had been so optimistic, yet it turned sour before I even realized it. As stubborn as I could be sometimes, maybe Bellamy was right and I was actually not ready to go. I tried to shake the thought out of my head but every time I got Octavia's annoyed face out of my mind, it was replaced by the dead woman's face. She died because of me.

"Uurgh!" I released a frustrated grunt as I finally moved away from the door toward the other side of the room. I took the bucket of water standing next to the bed, grabbed a cloth, and moved towards the mirror to clean the blood off my face. Keeping busy was the key.

I managed to clean everything accept a small spot on my forehead when Bellamy entered the room. He closed the door behind him and started taking off his jacket. I turned to him and cleared my throat, having issues finding the right words.

"I'm sorry about today," I started. "You were right. I wasn't ready and I didn't realize it until I lost it."

Instead of answering right away, Bellamy finished hanging his jacket over the chair. Then he looked at me, walked over to where I was standing and put his arms around me.

"You could've been bit. You could've been _dead_ ," he stated simply, and even though he tried to cover it, I could make out the worry in his voice. After a short silence he added: "You studied psychology for god's sake. You need to learn to be aware of your emotions."

I chuckled. I pulled away from the hug just far enough to look at him and put my right hand in his hair - his gorgeous, thick, dark hair. Even though he tried to lighten the mood, his eyes showed he was serious; he was concerned.

"Well, sometimes I'm stubborn. And an idiot - did I mention I'm an idiot?" I added. He grinned, the smile reaching his eyes and illuminating his face, which only emphasized the freckles on his cheeks. He kissed my forehead, a gesture so full of love and caring that I realized how much I loved this man standing in front of me. How special it made me feel to be one of the only people to be allowed to see the soft side behind his tough exterior. How much I missed his face, his hair, his touch, in the months that I thought he was dead.

"Bellamy," I said, my mood sobered up from the light joking we did just a moment ago.

"Mh?" he pulled his face away a bit to be able to look at me, surprised by my sudden change of mood. I didn't say anything, just looked him in the eyes for a second; feeling a tingling in my lower stomach.

"Kiss me," I said, feeling a sudden urge to touch his arms, his chest, feeling him close so me. He looked at me for a moment before slowly moving in.

The kiss started out tender, slow. His lips felt hot on mine. A touch I have felt a million times before, yet still never failed to make my heart pound like it was the first time we kissed. My hands were wrapped around his middle while his were on my neck and on the side of my face, holding me close. The kiss became more and more urgent; me biting his lip, his tongue advancing into my mouth. His hands slowly moving down my back, making sure to touch every inch along the way; while my hands wandered to his arms. Feeling his muscles tensing as his hands moved along my body made me feel an urgency that was almost unbearable. An urgency to touch him, to have him touch me. An urgency for _him._ His hands moved to my ass as he swiftly picked me up and walked a couple of steps forward to push my back against the wall, his body pressed to mine. I moaned as his lips started to move down my neck, trailing it with kisses - not hard enough to leave a mark, but also not necessarily soft. He put me down and took his lips off of mine just long enough for him to remove my shirt, and then started tracing kisses from my neck down to my chest. I could feel his hot breath on my skin, could feel his touch on my skin as he grabbed my waist, and my desire became almost too much.

He just got to the area that was still covered by my bra when I started to push him away. His eyes shot up to mine, surprised and full on lust, disappointed until he realized I was pushing him toward the bed, my hands busy removing his shirt.

With a gentle shove I pushed him onto the bed. I removed my pants while I was still standing, and then climbed on top of him, kissing him; his mouth, his neck, his chest - savoring the sweet taste of his skin. I removed his pants in two quick movements, exposing just how excited he was before positioning myself back on top of him. Kissing him - more urgent than before, in his boxers his erection was rubbing against my leg.

With a sudden movement he grabbed my waist and threw me over, successfully positioning himself on top. He started trailing kisses from my neck down to my stomach.

"Bellamy," I moaned as his tongue moved further down my body.

* * *

"Hey, remember the night after our first trip into town?"

He looks confused for a moment, but then memory dawns on his face. "Yes," he smirks. "Yes, I do."

"That was a good night," I smile.

We have been at the cottage for a long time now, and the resources we are able to find in town are becoming less and less each trip. We know we will have to move on soon, but no one had the heart to say it out loud yet. This place has become a home. By some miracle there are hardly any walkers around, and a river runs very close, so we are giving fishing a try. As long as it means we can stay a little longer.

Raven, Finn, Bell and me are at the river right now, hunting for fish with makeshift rods. Unfortunately it is a meager day, and hardly any fish take the bait. The area around the river and the cabin is beautiful. The landscape is in parts covered with huge, lush oaks and cypress trees, on other parts the trees stand further apart and leave space for sunlight to stream in, illuminating everything in a lovely golden color when the time of day is right.

My eyes wander from the water flowing at my feet to a sparrow in a nearby tree, his chirping adding to the sea of endless forest sounds. My gaze eventually lands on Raven and Finn, who have placed themselves at the opposite bank with their fishing rods. They look bored, neither of them talking, instead gazing into the distance, deep in thought. About a month ago I noticed that something about them feels off. They seem more distant to each other than I remember, some unspoken barrier seeming to have built up between the once so happy couple.

"Bellamy!" I am ripped from my thoughts as Octavia shows up, making her way over to us from the cabin. "Can you guys get back? Clarke and the others should be back soon, and we want to discuss what to do about the food situation," she tells us before turning around and leaving again.

Clarke, Lexa and Monty left on a supply run into town this morning. They should have been back by now. Our agreement is that groups return at least an hour before sunset, but right now twilight is already close. We pack up our makeshift gear, Raven and Finn walk over the fallen log, which effectively functions as a bridge, to cross the river to our side. Raven and I exchange a look, and wordlessly we make our way back to the cabin.

When we walk into the living room everyone except the supply group is already there. Lincoln and Octavia are sitting on the chairs around the small dining table, Murphy is spread out on the couch, his expression bored. Raven takes the gear and puts it into the corner, Finn sits down in an armchair, Bellamy just casually takes a step to the left and leans against the wall. I walk over to the kitchen aisle to get some water. There is no sound except Murphy's bored humming and the impatient tapping of Octavia's fingers on the table. The tension is palpable. This moment had to come, but everybody was trying to ignore it, hoping they would have just one more day without a mention of our low rations. Slowly but surely our small, lovely, homey cabin is just not maintainable anymore. If we don't want to starve, we have to move out while we still have rations to last for the trip to god-knows-where.

"The others should have been back by now," Finn breaks the silence.

"Maybe they just.." I start, but am interrupted by shouting coming from outside. Everybody is immediately alert. Bellamy, closest to the door, grabs a shotgun from the corner and opens the front door, the rest of us either moving behind him or to the window to see what is going on. Only Murphy did not move an inch from his position on the couch - only his eyes giving away that he is alert.

I am standing next to the window and can see Clarke, Lexa and Monty dashing towards the cabin. They are shouting something, but they are too far away for me to make out what it is. Only when they get closer I finally understand them, and a cold shiver runs down my back.

They're telling us to _run_.


	12. Apart

**Clarke P.O.V.**

Every breath hurt like someone was stabbing her chest. They had been running for so long that adrenaline and fear were the only factors keeping her going. They ran into the herd on their way back from town. The supply run had started out so good when they found a hidden apartment which seemed untouched, in which they found a lot more supplies than they usually came upon these days, but already during lunch time Clarke noticed that something seemed off. There were slightly more walkers in town than usual, which was not concerning in itself, but something about it worried her, like a dark foreboding. Even the air seemed heavier and more humid.

They tried to hurry on their way back; Lexa and Monty sharing Clarke's disquieted feeling. Halfway back, Lexa stopped in her tracks and lifted her right hand, a gesture meant to shush Clarke and Monty's quiet conversation. That's when Clarke heard it, too. It sounded like a low murmur, multiplied by a hundred. Very quiet, yet when she focused on it, it was distinguishable. Clarke recognized the sound, knew what it meant, yet her mind refused to believe it until she saw it. She followed Lexa, who was carefully moving towards the trees to her left, which marked the spot where the ground was highest; in order to see what was on the other side of the dip. What she saw froze the blood in her veins and confirmed what she knew she would see the moment she heard the sound: walkers. Not just a few but a herd – so large she couldn't make out where it ended or where it began. She knew she should move but she could not tear her eyes away from them. One of them was wearing a torn suit, the skin that was visible underneath rotten, his eyes empty. Her eyes continued to scan the crowd until they found a child with a gaping wound on the left side of her face, her unicorn pajamas covered in dried blood. The sight broke Clarke's heart. So young. She wondered whether the girl's parents were still alive. Whether they had to watch their daughter die or if they were still looking for her, or if it was the other way around, if the girl had lost her parents and was left defenseless against the walkers.

She was pulled back into reality by Monty, who was grabbing her arm and wanted to slowly pull her away and out of sight, but it was too late. A couple of the walkers on the near edge of the herd had picked up their scent and turned toward them. For a second, Clarke found herself holding direct eye contact with the biter in the suit. _Underneath all the hunger for flesh, could he still see her? Was he aware he once was a person just like she was?_ She could not ponder the thought for long, because the walkers started moving into their direction – and as herds do, others soon followed the few that had changed direction, and so they had started heading toward Clarke, Lexa and Monty. That's when the three of them started running.

They reached the small clearing and by the time the cottage came into sight, Clarke was trying to ignore the stabbing pain in her lungs and sides which begged her to stop. Instead, she started shouting, trying to get her friends' attention and praying that everyone would be in the hut and not out fishing or otherwise. Soon the door opened and she could see Bellamy standing in the doorframe, holding a shotgun which pointed in her direction.

"RUN!" she screamed.

She could see Bellamy slight lowering the gun, but he did not move, her words didn't seem to resonate with him. She tried to shout more, but the pain in her lungs did not allow her to spend any extra air on screaming – everything was needed to just keep her running. Lexa reached the stairs leading up to the door first and easily jumped up, the run seemingly not having worn her out as much as it did Clarke. Lexa was not even through the door when she started giving out instructions.

"You have one minute to grab everything you can, we have to leave _now_!" her voice was calculated and controlled, she might as well have ordered them to prepare dinner. She didn't stop to explain more; instead she moved insight immediately to gather her things. Clarke came in next; Monty came in last and took a moment to lean forward, his hands placed on his thighs, breathing heavily; the run having worn him out visibly as well.

"What the hell is going on?" Raven asked. Clarke moved around the room following Lexa's lead and gathering everything that might be important. Everyone looked at her wide eyed, except Murphy who was spread out on the couch, pretending not to care.

"There is a herd coming this way. We have to leave now!" Clarke answered.

"Can't we sit it out here? Let them pass?" Zoey asked.

"No," Clarke said while grabbing her backpack and filling it with all the medicine from the medicine cabinet before moving on to the kitchen. "There's too many. This cabin doesn't stand a chance. They're coming."

There was not much time for discussion. Lincoln was the first person to move. He followed Clarke and Lexas's example and gathered his things. Only then did the others finally seem to wake up from their momentary stupor, and soon everyone - including Murphy - was moving about the small cabin; grabbing clothes, food, guns and stuffing them hurriedly into their bags.

* * *

By the time they started moving out of the cabin, which had been home for the group for many months, the first walkers had already found their way into the clearing.

"What the hell.." Murphy exclaimed, his voice still controlled, making him sound like he was commenting on something trivial.

"Run!" Bellamy instructed. "And make sure to stay with the group!"

Everybody started moving through the trees behind the cabin, the opposite direction of which the walkers were coming. They had flashlights, but not enough for everyone, causing some of them to run, almost blindly, behind the one's with lights.

They had been running for ten minutes when the first of them started slowing down. Clarke turned around to shine her flashlight behind, illuminating Monty and Murphy who have fallen back a bit.

"Come on, we don't have time to slow down. They're still close!" she scolded them with a tone that was almost begging, worried about not being able to outrun the herd.

"They're not as fast as we are. We have some time to catch our breath," Murphy replied simply. Clarke wanted to reply, tell him he's wrong, but she knew there was no arguing with John Murphy. Once he had made up his mind, there was hardly any convincing him otherwise.

"You are slowing the group down, Murphy. We can't afford to slow down," Bellamy reminded him from up front. He had taken the lead of the group, moving quickly through the now pitch-black forest. Apart from their heavy breathing and the sounds of crushing leaves and branches underneath their feet, they were surrounded by the eerie sounds of the night: the howling of an owl, the wind rustling in the trees, an animal calling for a mate far off in the distance. All these sounds only added to the goosebumps that had already formed on Clarke's neck the moment she heard the walkers for the first time that afternoon.

"Jesus, Blake. Calm down, you sound like..", but the end of the sentence was muffled by a thumping sound. Clarke stopped in her tracks and turned around, shining her flashlight in Murphy's direction. He was pressed against a tree, struggling to keep a biter away from his throat.

"Walker!" Clarke yelled, but Octavia was quicker. In three steps she had covered the distance to Murphy and buried her machete deep in the walkers' skull, its dead weight dropping down at her feet. Even the usually-so-cool John Murphy looked surprised.

"Damn."

"Where did that come from?" Zoey asked. Clarke turned around and made eye-contact with the redhead for a moment, concern and fear visible on both of their faces.

"Shit!" Finn shouted, and Clarke quickly mimicked his movement and shone her flashlight into the direction the walker came from. There were more. In the few seconds Clarke had been illuminating that particular side of the forest, five more walkers had moved into sight.

"Run!"

They started running again, but after not even 30 seconds they encountered more walkers in front of them. Both Raven and Zoey, now up front, started shooting and changed directions to escape the oncoming biters.

"Don't shoot if you can help it! It's gonna draw more of them!" Lincoln insisted, but it was helpless. There were too many, now moving in from two directions, and with only two machetes among all of them, guns were the only hope they had of fighting them. Clarke took out her handgun and started shooting the female walker who appeared just inches in front of her. _There's too many of them!_ she kept thinking while moving forward, shooting oncoming walkers as she went. When she turned around she already could not make out most of her group anymore, only single bulbs of light, farther out than she'd like them to be. _Shit._ She tried to change direction to move back toward the rest of her friends, but there were just too many walkers between her and them.

 _Come on, Clarke, think!_ She scolded herself mentally while moving through the dark forest, trying to escape the deadly threat. Another walker appeared in front of her, but when she held up her gun to shoot it, she found the magazine empty. Panicked, she moved backwards, struggling to find another weapon in her bag, when her back hit a tree and before she knew it, the walker was on her. She had to use both arms and all of her strength to keep it off her, resulting in the flashlight dropping out of her hand, now illuminating the forest floor. She could not see the walkers face, but could tell the direction in which its head was moving by the sound it made. The deep and hungry grunting, desperate for flesh. By the sound of it, she assumed this used to be a man. Clarke desperately tried to think of a way to get out of its grasp when she was blinded by a light which was pointed directly at her face. She had to squint and move her face away from the light, and suddenly she was relieved of the pressure that the walker put on her just a few seconds ago. When she moved her head back, she could see the bulb of light shining on the walker which was now lying on the floor, put down from a stab wound to the head. She carefully used her hand to shield her eyes from the light while trying to see who killed it.

"You really should be more careful, princess."

Clarke let out a relieved sigh - Finn's voice immediately calming her down. He was with Monty, and the three of them carefully moved on, disappearing deeper into the forest. The further they moved, the less walkers they encountered. To avoid noise they used knives to kill biters, which Monty and Finn had grabbed when leaving the cabin. Clarke had changed the magazine of her gun with a full one from her bag, keeping it in her hand to use in case she had to act quickly, but fortunately she did not have to. When dawn came, they had not encountered a walker in an hour.

"We should settle down and get some rest," Finn said when they came upon a little cave, just big enough to fit the three of them and hide them from plain sight.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Clarke asked, the events of the last hours having left her deeply unsettled, restless.

"Clarke, we have to sleep at some point. Now is as good a time as any, we haven't seen a walker in some time."

"Finn is right," Monty agreed. "I can take first watch."

* * *

Clarke tried to settle into a comfortable position on the floor of the cave, but eventually settled for lying on her back. She wouldn't be able to sleep anyway, she was too concerned for her friends.

"You okay there, princess?" Finn used the nickname lightly, something only he called her. He had settled in next to her, their arms almost touching.

"Yes," Clarke stated simply, turning her head away from him.

"Come on, Clarke. You can't act like this forever."

She turned her head back to look at him. His expression was light, but his eyes revealed he was much more serious than he would like to let on, like this was something that had been on his mind for a while.

"What do you want me to do, Finn?" Clarke asked, quietly but almost exasperated.

A few weeks after the outbreak, Clarke and Finn had found themselves split up from the group after another unexpected attack by a group of walkers. They had been apart from the group for two weeks when it happened. They did not believe they would find the others, they had found an old bottle of scotch, and even though Clarke had never been a big fan of drinking, she let Finn convince her otherwise. They had found shelter in an old abandoned building, locked themselves up in a room, and emptied the bottle. Before she knew it, she found herself holding on to him, his hands in her hair, their mouths entangled in a desperate kiss. The morning after she felt as bad as she never had before in her life. Not just because of the pounding headache, but because she had slept with the boyfriend of one of her best friends. And even though she had always found herself being attracted to Finn, and even though she thought she would not see Raven again, she felt disgusted with herself. A few days later the others found them, and even though Finn was acting normal around her, if not even more attentive to her than before, Clarke could not bring herself to look him or Raven in the eye, the guilt weighing on her too heavily.

And now she found herself lying next to him in the cave, his gaze focused on her, his dark eyes looking straight into hers.

"Clarke..."

"No, Finn!" she interrupted him. "I can't do this. Please don't do this."

"Clarke," he started again, his voice softer this time. "You can't even look me in the eyes."

"Because I'm ashamed of myself!" Clarke tried to keep her voice down, but the desperation she was feeling was boiling up. "I wish that night never happened."

She stared at the wall for a moment before turning back to look at Finn. His expression had changed, he looked like she had physically slapped him with her words.

"I don't," he stated quietly.

"What?" Clarke asked, taken aback.

"Of course I hate myself for cheating on Raven, but that night...that wasn't just the alcohol. That was something I would have also wanted if I would have been sober."

Clarke found herself at a loss for words. Of course she had daydreamed about scenarios where Finn and her could've been something, scenarios where he wasn't with Raven but with her, but to hear him say it felt wrong. Yes, she was in love with him, at this point she could not deny it any more, but she did not want it to happen like this. She couldn't do this to her friend. Her conscience would not let her.

"Finn, I can't..." but before she could finish her sentence she was interrupted by movement outside.

Monty leaned into the opening of the cave. "Guys, there is someone here."

"Walker or human?"

"I'm not sure yet."

Clarke and Finn grabbed their weapons and quietly followed Monty outside. The sun had risen now and it seemed like it would be a lovely day. The sky was blue and there were hardly any clouds in sight. It seemed like nothing had happened last night, like the sky was mocking them, like the weather should somehow reflect the dread they were feeling. The gun felt heavier in Clarke's hand than it did last night.

They carefully moved into the open and crouched behind a boulder at the cave's entrance. She could hear it too now, movements. She tried to push the conversation with Finn out of her mind and concentrate on the threat in front of her. The movement seemed to be coming their way, and soon they could make out voices as well.

"Voices," Clarke said.

"Maybe it's some of us.." Monty suggested carefully.

Finn got up slowly and started moving into the forest, toward the noise.

"What are you doing?!" Clarke hissed, but Finn either didn't hear her or he ignored her. He moved carefully, his gun raised, his body language showing he was alert. He kept moving like this for a few more steps, but then he visibly relaxed. He dropped his gun, and when he turned his head toward Monty and Clarke there was a big smile on his face.

He turned towards the source of the voices again. "Bellamy!"

Clarke and Monty quickly got up and followed Finn. When they reached where he was standing they could see them too; it was Bellamy, Murphy and Octavia. Clarke felt a weight lifting off of her, relieved there were reunited with at least some of the others.

After updating each other about what happened to each group, they decided to stay at the cave and get some rest before moving on. Clarke and Bellamy took first watch, both of them too anxious to sleep. They were silent for a long time, being distracted by their own problems.

"You okay?" Bellamy eventually broke the silence, looking over at Clarke from where he was sitting, his back casually leaning against the boulder that was in front of the cave. Clarke was sitting on the forest floor, leaning against a tree, close to where he was sitting.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"You're a terrible liar," he smiled.

Clarke felt a pang of guilt. Was it that obvious?

"Okay," she smiled back at him. "I'm not fine. But I will be."

They were silent for a minute and for the first time since they took watch, she got a good look at her friend. He looked tired, his usually handsome face worn out and worried. The fingers of his right hand kept impatiently tapping his thigh.

"Bellamy," she said and he looked up at her again. "What's on your mind?"

He held her gaze before looking back at the trees, into the forest. "It just.. It feels wrong to stop."

"Hey," Clarke began. "I know you want to find Zoey, but we can't do that if we're all on the verge of passing out. We have to get some rest," she said with a smile, trying to encourage him, even though she felt he was right. She too felt trapped staying in one place.

He looked at her again, and for only one moment he allowed his eyes to reflect the worry he was feeling.

"I can't lose her again," he said quietly.

"I know," Clarke answered, feeling at a loss for words. Bellamy looked back toward the cave, seeing if anyone had woken up, and when he turned back to Clarke his expression was stern again, the vulnerability had left his eyes. She had these moments with him sometimes. Sometimes, he let his guard down when something was on his mind, and she always appreciated when he did.

They were silent again for a while, and eventually the others from the cave started waking up and coming out.

"You guys can go lie down now," Octavia said as she walked out of the cave.

"I'm not tired. I just want to move on when everyone is up," Bellamy said, and added: "Clarke?"

"Yeah, me too actually."

* * *

They were on the move again for a good couple of hours when they came upon two small houses. They carefully moved toward the first one, not knowing whether it was inhabited or not. Bellamy went in first, followed by Octavia, Finn and Clarke. Monty and Murphy stayed on the porch to keep watch. The house was small and nicely decorated, but it looked dusty, like no one had inhabited it for a time. They still made sure to check all the rooms, but they found no one.

"See? I told you there would be no one here," Finn turned to the others, smiling, as he opened the door to one of the small hallway closets.

"Finn, watch out!" Clarke yelled, because while Finn had turned around, he failed to see the walker that was locked inside the closet. He turned around but it was too late - Clarke watched in horror as the walker bit deeply into Finn's neck.

"NO!"

Bellamy was closest to Finn and managed to put a bullet in the walkers head - but it was too late. Finn was on the floor, bleeding heavily from the gaping wound in his neck.

"No, no, no, no, Finn! No!" Clarke kept repeating desperately, tears had already started running down her cheeks when she reached him. Her heart was racing and she felt like she had an out-of-body experience. This could not be happening. She knelt down next to him, touching his face, pleading with him not to die.

"I'm sorry.. princess," he choked, but his injury was so bad that she did not even have time to answer him; he had already passed out. Clarke desperately tried to cover the hole in his neck with her hands, but it was useless.

"Clarke...," Octavia started, touching her arm.

"No!" she sobbed. She was not ready to accept that Finn was dead before she could tell him how she felt. She could not accept it.

"Clarke, he's going to turn," Octavia tried again, but Clarke wasn't moving. Her hands, now covered in warm blood, were still on Finn's neck; her tears falling onto his motionless face.

Bellamy knelt down on Finn's other side, carefully moving her hands away from their dead friend.

"I'm sorry," he whispered before taking a knife out of his pocket. Clarke realized what he was about to do.

"No," she said, taking the knife out of his hand. "Let me."

"Are you sure?"

She used her lower arm to wipe the tears from her face. "Yes."

She tried to pull herself together, but her hands were shaking when she moved the knife to Finn's head. And before she could change her mind, she drove the knife deep into the skull of the man she loved.


	13. Together

**First of all, I apologize to everyone who's been waiting for updates of this story! I've really lacked motivation, but now I have finally managed to rewrite everything so far (content is still the same, I just wasn't happy with the style and how I phrased a lot of things), so now I'm finally inspired to keep writing. Sorry for the long wait!**

 **Without further ado:**

* * *

"Can you pass the beans?" I ask Raven, who hands me the can absentmindedly. I am watching her as I'm eating, sitting on the forest floor, leaning against a tree on the opposite site of the campfire. She's lost in thought, staring into the fire with a solemn expression.

It has been three days since we lost the others, and so far we have not managed to find them again. We're still in the forest, the trees not finding an end no matter how far we go. We both managed to pack a bit of food, but slowly but surely our provisions were coming to an end. Our water had run out today, tomorrow we will have to find a stream to fill up. All this seems to be going through Raven's mind as I am watching her across the campfire, her red jacket zipped up to her chin, trying to stay warm. But tonight, there seemed to be more she's worried about.

"We'll find them. Finn is gonna be fine," I say eventually, trying to sound reassuring. For the first time, she looks up. She is still for a moment too long before she nods her head, and for only a second something flickers in her eyes that a stranger would identify as worry. But Raven is my best friend, and I realize she is not worried - she is feeling guilty.

"What's going on?" I ask.

She's staring into the fire without answering for a long time. Eventually, she stirs.

"How do you feel being separated from Bellamy?" she asks as she looks up at me again, but she doesn't sound curious, she sounds like she already knows the answer. I shoot her a questioning look. "Anxious," I reply. She chuckles, but it's not genuine. I can see her features distorting.

"What if I told you I don't feel anxious being separated from Finn?" She stares at me as if she's challenging me, but there is pain in her eyes.

"What do you feel?" I ask.

She looks back into the fire, not managing to hold eye contact. "Relieved," she says eventually. For a moment I watch her, waiting if she is going to say more. She doesn't.

"Raven, what happened between you too two?" I ask gently.

"He's been sleeping with Clarke," Raven says matter-of-factly.

"What?!" I ask incredulously before I can stop myself and Raven snorts bitterly. "Yeah, that was my reaction." For a moment she is silent. "Neither Finn or Clarke told me, but they didn't have to," she starts. "It happened pretty early on. We got separated. All of us, and Clarke and Finn. It took us days to find them." She pauses and I give her time. She takes a deep breath before she goes on. "After that, everything was different. Finn was too attentive, as if he was feeling guilty. Clarke couldn't even look me in the eye," Raven snorts again. "Still can't. But I saw the way she looked at him. And I can still see the way he is looking at her now when he thinks I'm not watching." After that Raven is silent, staring into the flames, lost in memories.

For a long time I think about how to react. My first instinct was to ask her why she hasn't told me before, I had been with them for months, but I can stop myself just before I speak. This isn't about me. I'm thinking of telling her maybe she is wrong, but the last thing Raven needs is having to defend a fact she has already accepted as true. I look over at her, sitting across the fire from me, desperately thinking of ways to ease her pain, until I finally resign myself to the fact that I can't. There are no words that can help her. Sometimes you don't need an answer as much as you just need someone to listen, and I am sure this was the first time she has admitted this out loud. So instead of repeating meaningless, flowery phrases, I carefully stand up, walk over to her and sit down next to my friend. Instead of trying to cheer her up, I wordlessly take her hand in mine and hold on tight. The best thing I can do for her is to show her that I'm with her no matter what. Eventually, Raven leans her head on my shoulder, and so we sit there on the forest floor, holding hands, until we eventually drift off to sleep.

* * *

"Zoey!"

I am woken up by Raven hissing my name. I tiredly open my eyes and see that the darkness of night has been replaced by the gentle light of dawn. In front of us, our fire has gone out, only a little smoke coming out of the ashes. Raven is crouched down across from me. Her eyes are alert and she is staring into the forest, concentrating.

"Hm?" I ask sleepily.

"There's someone," she whispers and I am immediately alert.

"Walker?"

"I don't know."

I quickly move over to my backpack and retrieve my knife. Then, I carefully move to Ravens side. Eventually, I can hear it too. There is movement in the distance. I can barely make it out, but it is there.

"Get your stuff," I say and we both quickly grab our backpacks. We then carefully move into the direction of the noises, because even though it might be walkers, it might also be our group. We are as silent as we can, only communicating via gestures as we walk over the leafy forest floor. Eventually, Raven grabs my arm and pulls me behind a boulder. From here, we will be able to see the source of the movement before it sees us. As we wait for it to come into view, I look over at Raven. Her face is stern in concentration as she stares into the distance, waiting for whatever is coming our way. I can't help but admire her for her strength. All this time she knew her boyfriend had cheated on her, with one of her friends nonetheless, and yet she doesn't mention it for the sake of the group trying to survive the end of the world. I try to put myself into her position and try to imagine how I would react if Bellamy had slept with Clarke, and a sudden flash of anger and jealousy fills my heart. I wouldn't have been able to handle it as graceful and selfless as Raven did.

I am pulled back into the present as Raven whispers 'There," and I look back into the direction of the movement. The sound of feet walking over leafs are louder now, and I can tell that it is either multiple people or multiple walkers. Then, the first person walks into view and I release a breath that I've been unconsciously holding. I smile, and both Raven and I move out of our hiding spot.

"Bellamy," I shout, jogging over to him, Raven right behind me. He is about 20 feet away from me. His dark jeans and jacket are dirty, and an assault rifle is hanging loosely from his shoulder. His face relaxes visible when he sees us, and he mimics our movement and hurries over to us. Behind him, the others are coming into view. Clarke is right behind him, and a sudden urge of anger overcomes me, but I push it away. She looks exhausted. Her long blond hair is dirty as well, and her face is heavy. Dark bags have formed under her eyes, and her eyes themselves are red, as if she'd been crying. Behind Clarke I can see Octavia, Lincoln, Monty and more, and when I finally reach Bellamy I think myself lucky that we've all made it here and found each other, yet again.

I put my arms around my husband as I reach him, and he reciprocates my movement, kissing my forehead when we eventually pull away. I still have my arm around Bellamy when I hear Raven asking for Finn. The others have reached us too and my eyes are scanning the group. Raven is right, Finn is the only one who is missing. With sudden dread I look back to Clarke's red eyes. My eyes find Bellamy's. He shakes his head barely visible, and I can feel a lump building in my throat.

"Tell me!" Raven shouts when no one answers her.

"Raven," Monty hesitates. "Finn...he didn't make it."

For a moment, Raven is frozen in place, her face not giving anything away. Then, she turns around and walks away. I look after her, not knowing what to do. Eventually she stops walking, back still turned to us, and starts screaming. Her scream is so guttural and full of pain that she almost sounds like a wounded animal. Monty starts walking into her direction but I stop him.

"No," I say quietly. "I'll go."

I carefully approach her, hectically thinking about what I can do. As I reach Raven I walk around her so that I am facing her, but she is leaning forward, hands on her thighs, looking at the floor as if she is about to be sick.

"It's my fault," she says.

"Raven," I start, but she interrupts me. "No!" she almost shouts as she uprights herself and looks at me, her eyes wide in pain. "I said I was _relieved_ he was not with me and now he's _dead_!"

Seeing Raven like this breaks my heart. There is so much pain in her eyes, so much suffering, so much guilt. She goes on about how Finn's death is her fault. As much as I knew to be quiet yesterday when she told me about Finn and Clarke, as much do I know now that I have to nip this in the bud as soon as I can.

"Stop!" I interrupt her louder and harsher than I intended, and behind her I can see the others looking up at my sudden outburst. It worked, though. Raven is looking at me, surprised. "This isn't your fault," I emphasize every word, and when I see her wanting to protest again, I interrupt her straight away. "Stop!" I say again. "Raven, you're entitled to everything you're feeling. You also have been entitled to everything you were feeling yesterday. But I am not going to let you blame yourself for this, because it was _not_ your fault, do you hear me?" I am speaking harsher than I want to, but I need to get through to her.  
Raven breaks eye contact, but she is nodding. After a moment, she bites her lip and a sob escapes her lips. She is crying. I take a step closer to her and pull her in, wrapping my arms closely around her body as she cries on my shoulder.

* * *

That night, we camp out on a small clearing. Most of us are sleeping, only Lincoln, Murphy and I are still up for first watch. Raven lies a bit further away from the group, wanting to be alone. There hadn't been much talking all afternoon, everybody shaken about Finn's loss, feeling Raven's pain as well as their own. When I looked at Clarke, I could see the same guilt in her eyes that I saw yesterday night in Raven's.

"Where are we gonna go from here?" I ask silent, not expecting an answer.

Eventually, Lincoln speaks. "When Lexa and I were looking for the group we found a road. There was a sign for a prison that's a few miles from here."

"A prison?" I ask, doubtful.

"Might work," Murphy says, contemplating. "I mean what's safer than a place you're not supposed to get out of?"

"It's gonna be full of walkers," I say.

"It's worth a try," Lincoln replies.

I look back at the fire, lost in thought. If we were able to clear it it might work. But how would we even go about doing that?

When I can't keep my eyes open anymore I ask the two if they're okay by themselves, and when they tell me they are I walk over to where Bellamy is lying. He is lying on his side and I lie down next to him, carefully not to wake him up. For a long time, I just look at his face, the tiredness from before forgotten. What if they had told me today that he was the one who didn't make it? What if tomorrow, of next week, or sometime next year I lose him again, not able to find him this time? A wave of anxiety hits me and I almost frantically look at his chest, to ensure it is moving, to ensure he is breathing. Carefully, I reach out my hand and touch his cheek, stroking his skin with my thumb. He opens his eyes almost straight away. First, he looks confused, but when he sees me his face turns to concern. "Hey," he whispers, his voice quiet and raspy from sleep. "What's going on?" I swallow and realize that I'm crying. "I can't lose you," I say quietly, holding back a sob. "I'm not gonna survive it," I add and fall silent, because I won't be able to say more without choking up. "Hey," he says again, this time gently, his features soft. He puts his left arm around my waist and pulls me closer to him so we're chest to chest, my face buried in the soft part of his neck. "You're not gonna lose me," he says as he strokes my back.

"Promise?" I ask.

"Promise."

* * *

The next day, we decide to try the prison. If we'll find it full of walkers and can't clear it, we can still go somewhere else, but for now it is the only idea we have. We have been walking for a couple of hours when we find the street with the sign directing us into the right direction. It is a gloomy day, and we keep under the covers of the trees as it rains down on us. I keep looking back to Raven. She is hiding whatever she might be feeling, her face expressionless as she walks.

"Stop worrying over me," she says eventually.

"You know that won't happen," I tell her and we continue to walk in silence. By the time we can start spotting the prison in the distance, we are drenched to the bone. The street we are on is surrounded on each side by the forest, and far in the distance I can see the trees opening up, unveiling a big fence with an even bigger building behind it. It almost looks like a fortress. For the first time, I start believing that this might work if we'll manage to clear it.

"There it is," I can hear Octavia say, and all of us speed up, anxious to see what we're facing, but as we are approaching the prison, a thought enters my mind that hadn't occurred to any of us before. I stop in my tracks.

"What if the prison is already taken?" I ask.

The others stop as well, and I can see the same puzzlement reflected on their faces.

"Let's approach it through the cover of the forest, see what we're dealing with," Lexa suggests. I nod my head, and see others nodding as well.

So we leave the street and disappear into the forest again. The closer we get, the more careful we are. Eventually, when we can start seeing the fence through the thick cover of the trees, Lexa tells us to spread out and form one big line. If we're spread out, we're harder to spot in case the prison is indeed already manned. I take the outermost part on the left, with Octavia to my right and the others behind her. I carefully approach the treeline, my gun raised in my hands. It is hard to see much through the heavy rain, but as far as I can see, the prison yard seems empty. There are no walkers. Either that means we are lucky, or it means we are too late. I stop behind a tree right next to the treeline and further scan the compound. It is big. So big, that if it hadn't been taken yet, there would be walkers, I realize with a sinking heart. I am just about to turn right to Octavia when I can feel a body move up behind me and something sharp against my throat. A blade. "Be quiet," a voice instructs. It's a deep voice, cold and calculating, female. "Drop the gun," she adds. I do as she says, petrified. I desperately look back to where the others are, but I can't see any of them. Slowly, the woman behind me is walking backwards, leading me away from the others. What am I gonna do? There is no way to overpower her. I move my eyes left and see the blade extending far. It is sharp, thin. A katana, I think. If I move just one inch this thing will have my head off in a second. She keeps leading me away from the others. I move my eyes to the right and see the the arm that is holding the weapon. Her skin is dark, her arm skinny but muscular. Her hand is clothed in a finger-less leather glove. "Keep going," she instructs harshly. She doesn't sound like someone to be messed with. Eventually, she moves me out of the cover of the treeline and in the corner of my eye I can see that she is leading me to an open gate in the fence. When we have almost reached it, she starts shouting. "There are eight more of you, come out into the open now or I'll slit her throat!"  
For a moment, there is no movement, then, slowly but surely, all of them are stepping out of their cover into the small, open space in between tree line and fence that wraps itself around the whole prison.

"Good!" the woman continues, her voice coming from behind my head in an angle that suggest she is hiding behind me so they won't get an aim at her with the guns. "Now drop your weapons and follow me!" My eyes find Octavia who is closest to me, her eyes just as wide as mine must be. The blade presses tight against my throat, not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to remind me it is there.

"Do as she says," I can hear Bellamy instruct. Reluctantly, they oblige, and one by one they put their weapons in the wet grass. The woman and I have reached the gate and she is pulling me through it. "Follow me!" she instructs again, and I notice that her shouting is drawing in walkers. Some have started moving out of the forest, some are coming towards us along the fence. Weaponless, my friends won't have a choice but to follow her and it dawns on me that she knows this. She is luring us into the prison. My heart is beating so loudly I am sure she must be able to hear it. She stops in the gate until she sees the others following her, exchanging worried glances, not knowing what to do. Then, she slowly moves me further inside.

"Are you the first ones he's sent?!" she asks me harshly. I am confused. He?

"I - I don't know what you're talking about," I tell her through gritted teeth, very aware of the blade on my throat.

"Don't play the fool. When is he sending the next troops? Did you think you could just sneak up on us like this?"

"I - I don't know what you're talking about..please.." I tell her. She is still hiding behind me as drags me along. The others carefully follow us inside, and when Monty steps through the gate as the last of them, she instructs him to close the gate, just in time before the first of the walkers reach it.

"Please," Bellamy starts, his hands raised to show he means no harm. "We just wanted to see if this prison was a good place for us to settle. Just let her go and we'll leave!"

Before she can answer I can hear footsteps approaching from behind.

"What's going on?" someone shouts, but I barely notice it, my mind too focused on thinking of how we'll get out of this.

"Some of the governor's people," the woman says. "I caught them lurking in the woods. I think the attack is starting."

"The governor...I don't..I don't know what you're talking about," I choke under her grip.

For a moment, there is silence.

"Turn her around," the voice instructs, and somehow, in the back of my head, I feel it sounds familiar. Slowly, the woman pushes me to move. My eyes move away from Bellamy and the others, and I can see the prison yard, expanding all around the big building. Eventually, she stops moving and I look straight ahead at the source of the voice. I gasp when I see him. He is wearing a light brown coat and dark jeans. In his hand he is holing his Colt Python. His hair is longer than it was the last time I saw him and drenched from the rain, and his jaw is covered in a stubble. His eyes are wide in surprise.

"Rick," I mutter.


	14. We're Safe Here

Small droplets of sweat ran down his forehead as he brought down the shovel into the thick, dark soil once more. The midday sun shone brightly in his face, making him squint whenever he raised his head. He was so absorbed in his task that he didn't consciously notice the grunting noises coming from the fence anymore. His brain had already accustomed to them, and outside in the yard, they were as normal as the chirping of a bird on a sunny day in spring - always there. Bellamy brought down the shovel again, turning the soil of the small vegetable garden he and Rick had planted a couple of weeks prior. The sun was hot and he could already feel his black shirt sticking to his back, yet he did not mind. Maintaining the garden was one of his favorite tasks, not because he was a particularly good gardener, but because it meant he could be by himself for a while and not worry about decisions, and it meant not having to kill. He turned another patch of soil and then thrust the shovel deep into the ground, wiped the sweat from his forehead with his right arm, and then leaned upon the shovel's handle, taking a break.

Bellamy solemnly looked around the prison yard, past the enclosure of the pig Michonne had found on a ranging. In the distance he could see Rick's son Carl standing on the platform of the guard's tower, next to the entry gate. The boy was barely older than fourteen, yet he was wearing a gun around his shoulder that was bigger than his torso, and his expression was stern. He always took his watch very seriously, and as usual his father's police hat was firmly planted on top of his head, covering his dark brown hair. Beneath the guard's tower Bellamy saw a group of people along the inner side of the fence, clearing walkers. Some were holding long, thin pipes, others were holding crow bars, as long as it was thin enough to fit through the small holes of the fence, it would do. Among them Bellamy spotted the fiery hair of Zoey. Her hair looked even redder in the bright sunlight, as if her head was on fire. She was wearing a black tank-top and dark blue jeans, and he could see her skin of her shoulders and arms shimmering lightly from sweat. She was holding a crowbar herself. She walked along the fence, stopping in front of a walker that was missing an arm and was pushing against the fence so hard that the skin of its face would show an imprint of the wire. As Bellamy watched, Zoey lifted up the crow bar, and with a quick movement she pushed it through the fence, into the walker's head. It collapsed to the ground, still, and Zoey moved on to the next. The prison was enclosed by two fences; an inner fence and an outer fence, standing about 15 feet apart. The outer fence was swamped with walkers on either side of the prison; the noise of all the people and the comings and goings of cars drawing them in. They were clearing the fences as much as they could every day, to prevent the enclosure weakening from the pressure the walkers were putting on it as they were trying to get in, but new biters were constantly appearing out of the forest to replace the ones they had managed to eliminate.

For a moment Bellamy just stood there, leaning on the shovel, and watched Zoey. A bit of blood had splattered on her arms, but her expression was light as she was talking to Glenn, who was working with a pipe to her right. His memory circled back to the night before they found the prison, when Zoey woke him up next to the campfire. He had been alarmed when he had seen her expression, her eyes wide, filled with tears. " _I can't lose you,"_ she had said. He had told her she wouldn't, _promised_ she wouldn't, but even she must have known that that was a promise he shouldn't be making. _What if one day the fence comes down while I'm clearing walkers? What if I get swamped by a herd while I'm on a supply run? Hell, what if I slip and fall down the watch tower?_ Promises of surviving were the last kind of promises that could be kept in the apocalypse. Bellamy had found that out the very day after he had made the promise to her, when they were approaching the prison and Michonne had taken Zoey with her blade at his wife's throat, thinking they were the Governor's men. He had thought he would lose her then, when they had surrendered their guns and had been lured into the prison yard. Zoey's face was etched in his memory, and sometimes he still dreamed about it; Michonne's katana at Zoey's throat, Zoey's eyes wide in fear. Not always did the dreams end like it had in reality, and more often than not Bellamy found himself waking up startled, having to make sure she was still next to him in the bunk. In the real version of the events, Rick had shown up, walking down the prison yard toward Michonne. "Turn her around," he had said, and when Michonne did, everybody seemed to be frozen in place for a minute. Michonne had stood threateningly behind Zoey, her blade still etched tight to the other woman's throat, the rain running down her black dreadlocks and her ebony skin, waiting for Rick's command, whereas Rick's eyes had grown big in surprise and confusion, his mouth slightly open. "Let her go," he had said eventually. He spoke quietly, but the command had been clear in his voice. Reluctantly, Michonne had lowered her sword. Bellamy had not turned to look at the others, but he was sure they had been just as confused as he was when Zoey and Rick had started walking towards each other, and even more so when Zoey had thrown her arms around him. Rick had reciprocated the movement, resting one arm around her waist, and one against the back of her head. "You're alive," he had said while he was still holding on to her, and Bellamy had heard Zoey laugh, a sound thick with emotion. "Do you great all old friends with a sword to their throats?" Zoey laughed when they let go, but Bellamy could hear in her voice that she was making the joke to cover how emotional she really was, and only then did the pieces fall into place. _This must be Rick,_ he had thought, and finally released that breath he had been holding ever since he saw Zoey with a katana at her throat. Zoey led Rick toward the rest of them, and introduced Rick to him first. The man's eyes had grown in surprise again when he heard his name. "You found him," he said, talking more to Zoey than to Bellamy.

After they had gone back to retrieve their weapons, Rick had led them into the prison while Michonne hung back to take watch again. Inside, the prison had been almost bigger than it looked from the outside, with hallways leading far into the distance at each end, creating a maze. Yet the ward Rick's group had cleared and claimed for themselves was almost homely. The hallways and buildings that were still full of walkers were secured with gates, and they called them the tombs. They lived in ward C, and it was stocked with food, and it had cells with bunks for more people than they were. They even had working showers. Inside, Bellamy watched as Zoey exchanged hugs with many more people, and he had met Glenn and Maggie, and the other people Zoey had talked about so much in the last few months. Glenn and Maggie had been married since she had seen them last, and Rick's baby had been born, a little girl they had named Judith, but unfortunately Rick's wife Lori had died giving birth to her. That night, while Raven and the others were taking showers and claiming cells for themselves, Bellamy had sat down with Zoey, Rick, Glenn and Maggie for a beer, celebrating Zoey's return. Bellamy had been mostly silent as Zoey talked about how she found him and the others, but he noticed that she left out a lot from her time before, when she had been held in that little room by the men who had abducted her. Finally, Rick told them about the Governor, who was the leader of another group in a nearby town, and who was out to get them. Glenn talked about the Governor holding Maggie and him hostage in his town, and how they were expecting an attack from them any day now. In fact, they were clearing out the ward the next day, planning to draw the Governor's men into the tombs once they attacked. Eventually, Bellamy left them to talk and went to find a cell for Zoey and himself to sleep in. He found Octavia and her boyfriend Lincoln, Raven, Monty, Lexa, Murphy and Clarke in one of the cells of the upper floor, talking quietly. They fell silent when he entered. "What's going on?" Bellamy asked. It was Octavia who answered him. "How do we know that we can trust them? We don't know these people," she said brusquely, and Lincoln nodded his head in agreement. "You're kidding," Bellamy answered in disbelief. "We heard a lot of stories," Clarke said gently, with more understanding in her voice, "but how do we know this Governor is the bad guy?" "These people are family to Zoey," Bellamy said without patience. "If she trusts them, I trust them." He left without waiting for an answer, yet when he lay in his cot that night, all he could think about was Rick's group and their fight with this man who called himself the Governor. Bellamy's head almost hurt from all the information he was contemplating, and his sleep that night was restless, his dreams filled with katanas and men in uniforms.

The very next day their doubts and questions had been answered, when the Governor and his people attacked the prison. They came in with machine guns, driving down the fence and walking straight into Rick's trap. Only four people had to be inside the prison for their plan, Bellamy, Zoey and all the others were outside the fences, waiting for it to end. The Governor and his people had walked into the tombs just as Rick figured they would, and when they were surprised by the walkers they came out running, and Glenn and Maggie had been on one of the bridges which were overlooking the yard, dressed in full riot gear, firing at their feet to send them running. And run they did, out of the prison yard, to their trucks. Afterward Rick and a couple of people went after them, intending on finishing the task, and Bellamy and the others had cleaned up the mess, reinstalling the fence and re-sealing the tombs. When Rick and the others returned they brought back a bus full of people with all the residents that were left from the Governor's settlement. Apparently he had gone berserk on the way back, killing his own people, and then disappeared. When they reached the town they found that he had gruesomely killed a woman named Andrea, who had been with Rick and the others since the beginning until they lost her at the farm, and even Octavia's last doubts had disappeared when she had hear the story.

"The garden is coming along fine," a voice behind him said and he almost jumped. When he turned around Clarke and Lexa were standing behind him, and Clarke raised her hands apologetically when she saw his reaction. Bellamy gave one last look to Zoey at the fence, and then turned to the two women standing next to him. "Yeah, with this weather they've been growing like weeds so Rick and I decided to extend it," Bellamy said, gesturing to the new soil he had been working on. Clarke nodded, and Lexa stared at the plants, lost in thought. "The others are going to go on a run this afternoon," Clarke told him. "We need some more medicine and dressings, so I said I'll join." Lexa looked up at that. "I thought you would be able to check on the snares," she said. "Shit, I totally forgot," Clarke admitted. The two of them had grown close since they had been at the prison. "I can do it," Bellamy shrugged, and Clarke looked relieved. Lexa nodded, and started walking toward the watchtower. "I'm on watch this afternoon, so I'll better go," she said, raising her eyebrows in ironic anticipation. There had not been any incidents in about a month, so being on watch was not always the most exciting job at the prison. "I'll see you tonight," Clarke said, and Lexa smiled before she turned around and walked away. Clarke looked after her for a long time, yet her expression looked tortured. Bellamy had to smile. "You know," he started carefully. "It's okay for you to like someone else, even if Finn is dead." For a second, Clarke looked like a deer caught in headlights. "You knew?" she said eventually, her voice quiet. "Of course," Bellamy answered, not unkindly. "The others?" "Not all of them." For a moment, Clarke was silent. "Did you talk to Raven?" Bellamy asked, and Clarke nodded her head yes, but did not elaborate any more, so he did not probe any further. When Clarke left for the gate and her run, Bellamy left the shovel next to the wheelbarrow, fetched a gun, and went outside of the gate, into the forest, to check on the snares.

* * *

One of the rabbits that he had found in one of the snares was cooking on the grill, and the smell of it almost made Bellamy's mouth water. He was sitting on a long bench on one of the tables in the inner courtyard, the one that was encircled by the prison buildings. He was sitting on the outer left edge of the bench; Glenn was sitting next to him, and Monty opposite of him, but both of them were in lively conversations with the people sitting next to them, their moods enhanced by the beer and the gin Clarke and the others had brought back from their run. In fact, as he looked around the yard, most people that were there were already tipsy. Not everyone had come. A flu had been going around the prison for some days now, and some people had stayed in bed rather than joining their feast. Lincoln and Octavia weren't there, but Clarke and Lexa were standing next to the door to ward C, deep in conversation with Sasha and Karen, two of the women that had joined them after the Governor's fall. Clarke's cheeks were bright red, and even Lexa was laughing. He wondered if he had ever seen her laugh before. Daryl, the man with the crossbow and the hero of all the younger kids in the prison was standing at the grill, cooking the meat. He had a cup of gin in his hand, but he didn't smile nor engage in conversation. Bellamy himself was drinking a beer, not intending to take it any further. He watched as the sun set behind the buildings and the lights in the courtyard came on. Raven had fixed the electricity shortly after they had arrived.

Bellamy was ripped from his thoughts when two arms wrapped around him from behind. He only had to look at the hands to know that it was Zoey. He used his hands to push her arms back up, so he could turn around on the bench and face her. Even at night and the bright white lights of the yard you could see that her skin had tanned from all the hours she spent outside. She was wearing a lose white shirt that perfectly matched her skin over a pair of dark blue jeans. To his surprise Bellamy saw that around her waist she wore one of his sweaters, in case it got colder. Her copper hair fell loosely around her shoulders, and it was still partially wet from the shower she had taken before the feast. When he looked up at her, she gave him a wide smile, a smile that showed she was drunk. "You are being gloomy," she said. "I'm not gloomy." "Why are you being gloomy?" "You mean why am I not drunk?" he smiled at her, amused. "Come oon," she said and tried to squat down, yet she lost her balance and ended up sitting down. After short confusion, Zoey simply shrugged and made herself comfortable on the ground, crossing her legs and looking up at him. Bellamy watched this process trying not to laugh. "What's going on?" she asked when she had arranged herself. "Someone should be sober," he said lightly. Zoey was having none of it. "Bellamy, nothing happened in a month. We have a garden, we even have a _pig!_ " she exclaimed. "We're safe here." He looked at her for a moment. "I know," he sighed eventually. "It's just..when something appears too good to be true..it usually is." Zoey was about to answer him when Glenn, who was sitting next to Bellamy, bumped into him trying to move. The Korean got up, turned around, stepped carefully over the bench and sat back down in what could only be a loss of balance. When he sat he shook his head in confusion, and Zoey laughed a hearty laugh from her position on the ground, as if the same thing hadn't happened to her just five minutes past. When she looked at Glenn, Zoey's eyes suddenly grew wide, and she inhaled sharply, as if she had forgotten something. With her free hand she pointed at him while looking at Bellamy. "Did you know that Glenn once danced the Cha Cha with a naked man?!" she asked, her voice loud in excitement. Glenn bellowed at that, and his face turned bright red. Even Bellamy had to laugh out loud. "I'm too sober to hear that story," Bellamy smiled, and regretted it the second after, when Zoey handed him her cup of gin. Bellamy rolled his eyes. "Even you deserve a break," Zoey said, the first thing out of her mouth that didn't sound drunk.

In the end, Bellamy had stayed sober enough to carry Zoey to bed. She hadn't been too drunk to walk. She had swayed, that was certain, but when he had taken her inside she ran against a table in the dark, and Bellamy made short work of it and picked her up before she would break a leg. He also had to undress her, because as soon as he had put her down in the bunk of their cell, she had fallen asleep. He rolled his eyes as he took of her shoes, and when he slipped in next to her and covered them with a blanket, she woke up enough to murmur a quiet "I love you" as she snuggled up up him and fell back asleep. For Bellamy, sleep came harder, as so often. " _We're safe here."_ Zoey's words kept replaying in his head. _But what if we're not?_ Zoey was no fool, he knew she did not think they would be safe here forever, but in her joy and her excitement to be reunited with her old group as well as him and their friends, Bellamy believed she was shielding herself from thinking something could happen to them. _I'm going to have to watch out,_ he thought as he drifted off to sleep. In his dreams, he heard someone walk down the hallway in front of the cells, shuffling, one foot walking, one foot dragging. _Paranoid,_ he thought. _How would walkers get into the cells? We're safe here._


End file.
